O.C 


RY 


THE 


POETICAL  WORKS 


OF 


WILLIAM    ALEXANDER; 


INCLUDING    HIS 


CHRISTIAD,  DRAMAS,  AND  MINOR  POEMS, 


WITH 


DISSERTATIONS  ON  POETRY, 


AND 


A    SKETCH    OF    HIS    LIFE 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  &  CO.,  FOURTH  AND  RACE  STREETS. 


VVM    S.  7OPNO,  PRINTER. 


1847. 


n 


ART 


HntCtetr  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1847, 

By  WILLIAM   ALEXANDER, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


PREFACE. 


THE  individual  who  presents  the  ensuing  work  to  the 
world  of  men,  is  conscious  of  its  imperfections.  But  as 
imperfection,  in  some  measure,  of  necessity,  must  cha 
racterize  all  human  compositions,  it  is  hoped  that  the 
usual  allowance  will  be  made  for  any  marks  of  fallibility 
which  may  happen  to  characterize  this  humble  effort  to 
advance  the  literary  character  of  America.  It  is  the 
heart-felt  desire  of  the  author,  that  as  his  country  is  ra 
pidly  advancing  in  political  glory,  she  may  with  equal 
rapidity  advance  in  literary  glory;  and  may  her  sun  of 
prosperity  never  set. 

This  volume,  however,  goes  forth  into  the  vast  ocean 
of  literature,  anticipating  a  rough  reception  from  the 
storms  of  criticism.  Should  it  chance  to  be  wrecked 
amidst  the  breakers,  there  yet  remains  the  consolation!, 
that  such  has  been  the  fate  of  more  noble  writings.  To 
benefit  man,  and  glorify  the  great  Author  of  all,  is  the 
design  of  the  present  composition.  Should  the  writer 
fail  to  gain  the  approbation  of  his  native  country — it 
must  still  be  recollected,  that  it  is  honourable,  even  to 
fail  in  noble  darings. 

April  10,  1846. 


CONTENTS 


SKETCH  OF  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  AUTHOR, 


DISSERTATIONS. 

Antiquity  of  Poetry,     .    .         .  .  .  .  .  .1 

Origin  of  Poetry,          .......  2 

Nine  Muses,    ...  ...  3 

Origin  of  Poetry  in  general,  .....          4 

What  is  Poetry?  -.  ...          5 

Hebrew  Poetry,  .......  7 

Poetry  of  the  Book  of  Job,      ......  9 

Poetry  of  King  David,  ......         10 

Song  of  Degrees,          .  .  .  .  .  .  .11 

Poetry  of  Isaiah,          .  .  .  .  .  .  .12 

Causes  of  the  Peculiarities  of  Hebrew  Song.  .  13 

Eulogium  on  Homer,  .......         14 

The  Iliad          .  .  .  ....  .16 

Characters  in  the  Iliad,  .  .  .  .  .  .17 

Minor  Poetic  Writers  of  Greece,         .....         19 

Causes  of  the  Peculiarities  of  Grecian  Poetry,  .  .  .21 

Lament  for  Grecia,       .......         22 

Christian  Poetry,    •     .  .  .    •  .  .  .23 

Prospects  of  Genius,     .  .  23 

Origin  of  Poetic  Rome,  .  .  .  .24 

Her  true  Poetical,         .......        25 


VI  CONTENTS. 

Early  Poetry  of  Rome,               .  26 

Lucretius,          .                                       .  .27 

Era  of  Augustus,           .  28 

Eclogues  of  Virgil,     '.  29 

The  Georgics,                .  .31 

Argument  of  the  ^Eneid,  33 

The  Sack  of  Troy,         ...  .34 

Hector's  Ghost,  and  flight  of  ^Eneas,                                          .  .         35 

The  chief  Object  of  the  Epic,  .         35 

Works  of  Horace,                      .  .         36 

Works  of  Ovid.             ....  37 

Downfall  of  the  Eternal  City,              .  .         38 

Nature  is  the  Poet's  Study,     .  .        38 

Classic  Literature,        ...  .      .  40 

Curiosity,       •  .             .             .             ^  43 
Man  his  own  greatest  Enemy,             .                         ...        45 

Genius  of  Temperance,            .  .        47 

What  is  Fire?               ...  49 

What  is  our  World?-     .  .50 

The  Orb  of  Day,                                      .  .52 

The  Orb  of  Night,         .  .         53 

Time,  54 

Light,                ...  55 

Water,               .                         ...  56 

The  Atmosphere,          ...  .57 

Missions  Divine,           .  .58 
Man  a  free  Agent,        ...                                     .60 

The  plan  of  Wisdom  unfolds,  .         61 

Utility  of  Collegiate  Education,  62 


THE  CHRISTIAN  AN  EPIC  POEM.  6f> 


DRAMAS. 


Ella,  or  the  Prince  of  Gilead's  Vow.  .  .179 

The  Fall  of  Palmyra.  203 


CONTENTS.  VII 


MINOR  POEMS. 

Ruins  of  Balbec,                        ....  031 

Battle  of  Leipsic,         ....  034 

The  Six  Seals,               .             .  •          .  035 

The  Red  Man,              ......  238 

Lines  on  Ringgold,  Clay,  and  others,  239 

Elegy  on  A.  M'Leod,  D.  D.,  240 

Ella,  241 

The  glory  of  the  latter  days,                .            .            .  243 

The  Passion  Flower,                             .            .             .  0^4 

The  Heavens  declare  the  immortality  of  Man,  245 

The  News-man's  Address,       .  247 

Navicula,                      .            .             .             .             .  243 

Ode — Nelsoni  Mors,      .            .            .  049 

Elegy  on  General  Harrison,                  .             .             .  250 

Requiem  on  General  Washington,       .  051 

Time  and  Eternity,     .....  252 

Vitae  HumansB  Tempora,                       ...  252 

Africa,                                                                   .  .253 
Heaven,                         •••••..       254 

Thunder  Storm,            .....  254 

Elegy  on  Rev.  Messrs.  Munson  and  Lyman,              .  255 

Rivus>                                                                                 .  .             .256 

River>  .       256 

The  Exodus,     .            .                                      .  2>7 

The  Last  Day.  258 

Providence,       ....                          .  259 

Ocean,                                                                              .  260 

Heaven,  t.                  261 

Dirge  on  an  Infant  Boy,           ...  ,                    ogo 

Fragment,        .  .       263 


A  SHORT  SKETCH  OF  THE  LIFE 


AND 


LITERARY  CHARACTER  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 


William  Alexander  was  born  in  the  city  of  Philadelphia,  De 
cember  5th,  1808.  To  his  mother,  now  dead,  he  is  chiefly  in 
debted  for  the  possession  of  a  liberal  and  religious  education. 
Of  his  father,  who  died  when  he  had  scarcely  reached  his  fourth 
year,  he,  of  course,  had  at  no  time,  more  than  a  very  faint  re 
collection.  In  memory,  however,  that  chronicler  of  daily  occur 
rences,  there  appear  to  remain  many  pleasing  reminiscences  of 
his  early  years;  when,  like  Shakspeare's  school-boy  with  his 
satchel,  "  he  has  crept  like  snail,  unwillingly  to  school." 

From  his  earliest  days,  he  was  a  lover  of  books — giving  thanks 
to  the  Author  of  all,  for  inspiring  man  with  wisdom  to  invent 
the  same.  Three  books  have  been  his  especial  delight — the  book 
of  Nature — the  book  of  Art — and  the  book  of  God.  The  Bible, 
to  the  author,  has  been  the  Book  of  books. 

"  This  little  Book  I'd  rather  own, 
Than  all  the  gold  and  gems 
That  e'er  in  monarch's  coffers  shone,— 
Than  all  their  diadems." 

The  beauty,  simplicity,  and  grandeur,  manifest  throughout  it. 
might  captivate  every  noble  heart.  Would  man  be  eloquent? 
Read  the  book  of  God.  It  is  a  perfect  model  of  all  true,  unaf- 


X  A  SHORT  SKETCH  OF  THE   LIFE  OF  THE   AUTHOR, 

fected,  and  natural  eloquence.  It  is  written  by  angelic  penmen. 
It  is  laid  up  in  the  archives  of  Heaven,  as  a  precious  treasure. 
The  greatest  minds  are  unable  to  fathom  its  mysteries.  These 
mysteries,  the  author  would  deem  its  glory.  "  It  is  the  glory  of 
God  to  conceal  a  thing." 

With  a  good  book  as  his  companion,  the  author  must  say  he 
was  never  alone.  In  perusing  it,  he  has  often  had  converse  with 
the  spirits  of  the  great  and  good  who  have  lived  in  the  annals  of 
the  past.  And  one  book  alone  has  been  able  to  reconcile  him  to  the 
most  trying  situation,  and  to  offer  him  an  antidote  to  every  fear. 
The  faith  it  teaches,  can  indeed — 

"  Build  a  bridge  across  the  gulf  of  death." 

The  works  of  Sir  Walter  Scott — Young — Milton — Campbell — 
Gray — Shakspeare — Byron  have  afforded  the  author  much  poe 
tical  delight.  And  most  parts  of  these,  he  would  recommend  to 
others.  With  the  poetical  writings,  he  has  read  history — because 
it  is  the  study  of  man.  While  reading  it,  we,  of  necessity,  mo 
ralize  upon  the  actions  of  those  who  have  appeared  on  earth's 
stage  before  us.  Their  history  is,  to  us,  "philosophy  teaching  by 
examples.'7  We  behold  man  come — look  around  him — then  re 
tire.  In  infancy,  we  behold  him  smile — in  boyhood,  we  see  him 
full  of  jollity — in  manhood,  often  affected  with  sadness — in  old 
age — lo!  he  lies  down,  for  it  is  night — and  he  must  rest  from  all 
his  labours. 

The  writer  has  had  the  privilege  of  being  under  the  care  of 
some  of  the  most  accomplished  and  learned  instructors.  For 
most  of  them  he  has  yet  a  high  and  affectionate  regard.  How 
happy  the  privilege,  to  be  blest  with  an  intelligent  and  faithful 
instructor.  There  can  be  no  greater  misfortune,  than  to  be  per 
mitted  by  Providence,  who  directs  all  our  movements,  to  be  led 
through  the  groves  of  Academus  by  a  blind  guide.  Happy  are 
we  in  our  boyhood!  Our  school-days  recalled,  afford  many  sin 
gular  and  endearing  recollections.  Though  full  of  playfulness, 
the  author  was  never  wickedly  mischievous.  To  his  teachers, 
he  ever  paid  the  utmost  respect.  He  was  not  defrauded,  how 
ever,  of  his  share  of  the  rod,  that  awful  sceptre  of  school  domi 
nion.  Yet,  while  he  would  not  recommend  its  too  frequent  and 
severe  application — he  does  not  see  why  parents  should  object  in 
every  case  to  its  use.  A  wiser  than  we,  said,  "  He  that  spareth 


A  SHORT  SKETCH  OF  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  AUTHOR.        XI 

the  rod,  hateth  his  son."  Truly,  when  well  applied,  nothing  in 
our  young  days,  can  be  more  painful.  It  is  the  chief  hurden  of  a 
youth's  sorrows.  Spare  not  the  rod  upon  a  wicked  urchin's  back, 
which  seems  formed  to  bear  it,  but  beware  of  using  severity 
towards  the  boy  of  tender  spirit,  upon  whom  a  word  of  reproof 
might  have  a  more  enduring  and  salutary  tendency.  There  is 
no  necessity  for  severe  flagellation,  either  in  schools  on  land,  or 
schools  on  sea.  Its  tendency  is  to  break  the  youthful  spirit,  and 
depress  the  noble  heart.  "  Suaviter  in  modo — fortiter  in  re." 

In  July,  1828,  the  writer  entered  the  Sophomore  class  of  the 
University  of  Pennsylvania.  Three  years'  study  brought  him  to 
the  end  of  his  collegiate  curriculum — and  in  July,  1831,  he  ob 
tained  the  first  degree,  or  bachelor  of  arts.  At  the  commence 
ment,  he  spoke  on  classic  literature.  We  graduate,  however,  of 
tentimes,  to  commence  a  life  of  trouble  and  misfortune.  In  our 
collegiate  course,  much  may  be  learned  of  science  and  the  world. 
Men  seem  to  be  a  good  deal  like  boys.  The  college,  therefore, 
is  a  school  for  larger  boys.  The  disposition  for  our  future  occu 
pation  is  now  more  manifest,  because  our  mind  is  more  developed. 

Much  pleasure  is  derivable  from  the  diversity  of  studies  usual 
in  a  collegiate  course.  The  three  great  studies — Mathematics — 
Classics — and  Philosophy — tend  much  to  enlarge  and  exalt  the 
intellect.  Here  are  fields  in  which  the  student  may  expatiate 
long,  amid  an  almost  infinite  variety  of  new  objects.  The  study 
so  diversified,  prevents  weariness.  The  prospect  is  still  onward 
Therefore  it  is,  that  we  so  reluctantly  forsake  the  halls  of  our 
Alma  Mater. 

Soon  after  his  graduation,  the  writerbecame  an  usher  in  the  gram 
mar-school  of  the  university  in  which  he  had  spent  so  many  delight 
ful  hours.  His  new  position  was  attended  with  less  delight,  and 
more  frequent  annoyances.  In  the  performance  of  its  duties,  he 
was  ever  assiduous  and  zealous.  One  benefit  arises  from  our  zeal 
in  instructing  others — viz.:  we  become  more  thoroughly  grounded 
ourselves.  But,  in  general,  how  much  does  an  usher  obtain,  for 
passing  the  prime  of  his  days,  in  teaching  the  young  ideas  how 
to  shoot? 

After  three  years  thus  spent — the  author  opened  an  academy 
of  the  classical  order,  in  Girard  Row,  Market  St.,  Philadelphia, 
which,  as  principal,  he  kept  for  the  space  of  six  years.  Invited 
once  more,  he  became  teacher  of  Mathematics,  &c.,  in  the  school 


Xll  A  SHORT  SKETCH  OF  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 

connected  with  his  Alma  Mater.  Two  years  in  this  position, 
ended  his  labours  in  reference  to  his  own  university.  In  giving 
private  lessons — together  with  the  prosecution  of  literature,  the 
author  has  since  passed  his  time. 

The  history  of  an  author's  productions  are  often  more  inte 
resting  than  his  monotonous  life.  The  disposition  of  the  writer 
has  been  towards  poetry,  "  Poeta  nascitur,  non  fit."  It  is  im 
planted  in  our  very  nature.  It  is  the  result  of  an  overflowing  of 
that  feeling  of  pleasure  or  pain,  experienced  in  viewing  the  things 
of  nature  and  art  around  us.  The  voices  of  our  home,  seem  to 
implant  the  poetic  feeling  in  our  very  soul.  The  songs  sung  to 
us  in  our  cradle  have  a  poetic  tendency.  The  songs  of  our  child- 
hood  fill  us  with  tender  and  sympathetic  emotions. 

Fond  of  the  pathetic,  the  author  has  read  of  wars — and  sympa 
thized  with  the  suffering  warriors.  In  sympathy  he  thus  writes 
the  elegy  of  the  fallen  soldier:  admiration  of  Washington  and 
Harrison,  occasioned  the  existence  of  their  eulogiums.  Sympa 
thy  for  the  murdered  missionaries  of  Sumatra,  gave  rise  to  the 
elegy  upon  the  same.  Man  writes  as  he  feels.  What  he  does 
not  see  and  feel,  he  cannot  vividly  and  feelingly  describe. 

The  origin  of  the  Christiad  in  this  volume,  can  be  told  in  a 
few  words.  The  author  composed  a  poem  termed  the  Passion  — 
in  which  lay  the  germ  of  the  subsequent  and  larger  work.  This, 
spun  out  into  one  thousand  lines,  took  the  name  of  Great  Cru 
cified.  Wishing  to  render  it  thoroughly  epic  in  character,  he  ex 
tended  it  to  two  thousand  lines— and  gave  it  the  appellation  of 
The  Christiad. 

The  Epic  is  supposed  to  be  the  highest  effort  of  poetical  genius — 
the  "  Ne  plus  ultra"  of  poesy. 

"  Nature's  great  efforts  can  no  further  tend, 
Here  fix'd  her  pillars,  all  her  efforts  end." 

An  Epic  should  describe,  in  poetic  narration,  the  rise  or  fall  of 
some  great  empire.  There  must  be  one  great  action — broken 
into  by  the  poem  beginning  in  its  midst.  There  must  be  one 
prominent  hero — with  all  the  usual  machinery,  of  celestial,  infer 
nal  and  imaginative  beings.  The  chief  difficulty  in  the  work,  is 
the  proper  description  of  the  various  characters  which  figure 
throughout  the  action  of  the  piece.  To  frame  their  appropriate 
speeches  is  no  easy  task. 


A  SHORT  SKETCH  OP  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  AUTHOR.  Xlll 

The  best  models  of  Epic  song,  we  have  in  Homer,  the  blind 
bard  of  Greece — in  Virgil,  the  great  poet  of  Rome — and  Milton, 
the  mighty  compeer  of  the  former.  Homer  presents  the  fall  of 
Ilium — Virgil  the  rise  of  Rome. 

The  Christiad  of  the  author,  presents  the  rise  of  Messiah's 
kingdom  over  the  ruins  of  Satan's  monarchy.  To  every  species 
of  poetry,  attention  has  been  paid  by  the  writer — and  with  what 
success  this  volume  will  show.  Poetry,  however,  is  synonymous 
with  poverty. 

"  Seven  Grecian  cities  fought  for  Homer  dead, 
Through  which  the  living  Homer  begg'd  his  bread." 

Let  the  worshipper  at  the  shrine  of  Mammon  console  himself, 
as  he  gapes  over  his  shining  hoards;  he  who  possesses  Genius 
has  his  reward.  Genius,  if  possessed,  is  a  noble  gift;  and  where 
it  is— there  also  is  great  responsibility. 

Why  are  poets  so  unfortunate?  The  poet  is  generally  endowed 
with  a  fine  nervous  temperament.  To  this,  in  some  measure,  is 
attributable  his  life  of  trouble  and  misfortune.  The  sufferings  of 
many  of  this  class,  would  require  to  be  written  by  an  Idumean 
penman.  To  the  fineness  of  the  poet's  constitution,  which  inca 
pacitates  him  oftentimes  for  enduring  the  hardships  of  life,  may 
be  attributed  many  of  his  sorrows.  The  poet  is  often  inconside 
rate.  This  is  another  cause  of  his  misfortunes.  The  God  of  Na 
ture  created  man  for  the  joys  of  life.  Much  of  his  grief  and  sor 
row  man  occasions  himself.  We  therefore  have  sympathy  for 
man — because  we,  ourselves,  know  the  force  of  sorrow.  Soon 
shall  the  grave  close  over  us  all. 

u  There  kings  are  levelled  with  the  meanest  slave." 

What  is  life  at  best?  To  the  author  it  has  ever  seemed  but  an 
insubstantial  pageant.  Here  we  may  realize  that  all  is  vanity. 
Our  very  friendships  are  like  the  evanescent  snow — disappearing 
in  the  first  heat  of  affliction. 

In  conclusion,  the  author's  life  has  been  one  of  many  disap 
pointed  expectations.  In  the  Reformed  Presbyterian  Church  he 
was  brought  up — there  also,  he  studied  the  usual  theological  les 
sons  for  the  ministry.  Leaving  it — and  joining  the  Reformed 
Dutch  Church,  he  of  course  abandoned  the  study,  which  formerly 


XIV  A  SHORT  SKETCH  OF  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 

gave  him  so  much  delight.  Looking  for  the  time  when  the 
church  will  discard  minor  matters  of  controversy — and  with  the 
feelings  of  one,  who  says,  "This  is  my  own,  my  native  land," 
the  author  bids  the  reader  affectionately,  farewell! 


DISSERTATIONS  ON  POETEY. 


TO 

7S.   B.   WYLIE,  D.D. 

LATE  VICE-PROVOST  AND  PROFESSOR  OF  ANCIENT  LANGUAGES 

IN  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  PENNSYLVANIA  J 

IN  VENERATION  FOR  HIS  PROFOUND  KNOWLEDGE 

OF 

ORIENTAL  LITERATURE,  LANGUAGES,  AND  DIVINITY; 
2TJ)e  Bfssertatfons  of  tjjfs  Volume 

ARE  VERY  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED 

BY    HIS   FORMER   PUPIL, 

WILLIAM  ALEXANDER. 


DISSERTATIONS  ON  POETRY. 


DISSERTATION   I. 

ANTIQUITY     OF     POETRY. 

OF  all  the  liberal  arts,  poetry  may  be  deemed  the  eldest  and 
best.  It  may  be  considered  the  first  and*  the  last  of  human 
knowledge.  Immortal,  indeed,  as  the  mind  of  man,  it  is  also 
extensive  in  its  range  as  creation  itself.  Like  the  sun  of  nature, 
poetry  traverses  every  spot  of  earth,  and  there  is  no  place  hidden 
from  her  heat.  Restricted  to  no  time,  confined  to  no  place,  the 
present,  the  past,  and  the  future,  she  seeks  to  scan.  Her  eye  is 
every  where,  o'er  every  land.  Poetry  has  had  an  existence  from 
time  immemorial.  The  music  of  the  spheres  had  scarce  begun; 
the  sun  had  scarcely  commenced  to  roll  on  his  predestined  circle, 
amid  the  rival  orbs  of  heaven,  when  she  made  her  advent.  At 
the  laying  of  earth's  foundations,  "the  morning  stars  sang  toge 
ther,  while  the  angelic  choirs  struck  their  golden  harps,  and  all 
the  sons  of  God  shouted  for  joy."  Poetry,  then,  may  date  her- 
existence,  soon  after  the  venerable  shade  of  time  had  placed  his 
foot  upon  the  pedestal  of  ages.  And  his  whited  locks  shall  stream 
no  more  in  the  wintry  wind;  his  trembling  hand  shall  point  no 
more  to  the  ruins  of  empires,  when  she  ceases  to  exist.  Her  sub 
lunary  existence  shall  end  only,  when  the  great  Watcher  of  the 
skies  shall  appear,  at  whose  feet  the  universe  gives  way. 

Great,  then,  is  the  antiquity  of  this  noble  art.  We  may  cease 
therefore  to  wonder,  should  darkness  in  some  measure  veil  her 
early  origin.  Yet  amidst  the  dark  clouds  which  enwrap  the 
early  ages  of  it,  history  still  sheds  some  light  thereupon.  Man 
had  no  sooner  felt  the  desire  of  communicating  his  thoughts, 
relative  to  the  things  of  nature  around  him,  than  he  began  to  ex- 
1 


2  ORIGIN  OF  POETRY  AMONG  THE  GREEKS. 

press  those  thoughts  in  poetical  language.  The  very  language  of 
nature  is  necessarily  poetical.  The  heathens  considered  poetry 
the  language  of  their  gods;  still,  in  order  to  be  poetical,  the 
genuine  poet  must  be  like  a  little  child,  for  simplicity  of  lan 
guage.  Society,  also,  in  its  infant  state,  presents  the  poetical 
temperament  in  its  highest  state  of  perfection.  There  you  may 
see  it,  like  the  native  gold,  and  unpolished  diamond;  pure  and 
perfect  in  essence,  though  encrusted  with  the  rougher  matter 
which  refinement  alone  can  polish  off.  The  poems  of  Homer 
prove  the  truth  of  this  assertion.  They  were  produced  long 
before  Greece  had  arrived  at  the  zenith  of  her  glory.  But  again, 
the  very  expression  in  that  feeling 'caused  by  the  contemplation 
of  intellectual,  moral,  and  material  grandeur,  render  it  demon 
stratively  certain  that  her  first  existence  was  in  human  nature 
itself.  Nature's  language  is  alone  truly  poetical.  Look,  there 
fore,  for  the  origin  of  poetry,  among  the  first  men.  Look  for  it 
also  in  the  east;  and  there,  like  a  solitary  and  distant  star,  you 
may  behold  it  rising,  as  the  harbinger  of  the  great  poetical  day. 
It  appears,  first  of  all,  in  the  philosophic  and  picturesque  language 
of  the  Hebrews,  and  there  towers  aloft  like  the  pillar  of  fire,  in 
the  great  poetical  wilderness.  There,  too,  you  may  behold  it,  as 
an  emanation  from  heaven.  The  hand  that  made  it  is  divine. 
Its  youthful  language  is  that  of  divine  inspiration. 

"  Of  Siloah's  brook,  which  flow'd  hard  by, 
The  oracle  of  God,  the  Hebrew  muses  drank," 


DISSERTATION   II. 

ORIGIN     OF     POETRY     AMONG     THE     GREEKS, 

Immortal  Poesy !  who  from  above 

To  earth  camst  down,  a  messenger  of  love; 

Through  God's  great  universe  thou  mak'st  thy  way 

To  realms  of  darkness  and  to  realms  of  day. 

Nature's  vast  volume  open  to  thy  view, 

Thou  charm'st  the  mind  with  something  ever  new. 

The  origin  of  poetry  among  the  Greeks,  is  interesting  as  it  is 
beautiful.  Although  Hebrew  poetry  justly  deserves  the  fore 
most  place,  because  from  it,  we  learn  both  the  origin  of  the  art, 
and  how  to  appreciate  its  excellence,  yet  it  is  from  the  fountains 


THE  NINE  MUSES.  3 

of  classic  literature  that  the  genius  of  modern  Europe,  nay,  the 
genius  of  the  modern  world,  first  drew  its  inspiration.  To 
Greece,  then,  we  would  now  direct  our  eye,  as  to  the  head  of 
that  great  family  of  literature  with  which  we  feel  ourselves  so 
intimately  connected,  by  relationship  of  thought  and  association. 
**  Truly  we  are  debtors  to  the  Greeks." 

To  the  sons  of  those  men  who  fought  at  Thermopylae  we  are 
debtors;  not  simply  because  they  have  taught  us  resolution,  firm 
ness  and  courage,  but  because  they  have  been  our  model  in  the 
arts,  our  model  in  poetry,  music,  eloquence,  sculpture,  and  archi 
tecture.  It  is  the  warm,  feeling,  and  poetic  heart  that  ever  lends 
the  ready  and  the  nerved  arm,  to  strike  in  the  cause  that  is  right. 
That  land  of  struggles  for  freedom,  has  unquestionably  given  in 
spiration  to  our  world.  In  America  we  have  felt  her  power. 
And  we  are  now  moving  along  the  path  she  long  ago  pointed 
out,  to  the  hill  of  science  and  of  art.  And  do  not  we  admire  her 
monuments  of  art,  which  yet  stand,  as  the  wonder  of  the  civilized 
world?  Greece  has  led  captive  her  conquerors — led  them  cap 
tive  by  the  charms  of  her  inimitable  skill  in  the  arts. 


DISSERTATION   III. 

THE     NINE     MUSES. 

In  Thrace,  we  first  perceive  the  classic  muses  making  their 
appearance.  In  Phocis,  Thessaly,  and  Boeotia,  they  likewise  ap 
pear.  The  mountains  of  those  places  famed  in  story,  were  their 
favourite  haunts.  Olympus,  Helicon,  Pindus,  and  Parnassus 
were  their  loved  abodes.  They  drank  of  the  founts  of  Castalia 
and  Hyppocrene,  as  also  of  the  delightful  spring  of  Pieria, 
They  reclined  frequently  in  the  shades  and  grottoes  of  the  lovely 
Tempe.  Apollo  is  styled  prince  of  the  muses,  and  lord  of  poesy. 
The  muses  themselves  are  nine  figurative  ladies,  reputed  daugh 
ters  of  Jupiter  and  Memory;  well  versed  in  all  the  mysteries  of 
the  respective  departments  of  their  lofty  art.  They  are  thus 
described  by  the  pencil  of  nature.  Clio  first  advances,  with  a 
half-opened  scroll  gracing  her  hand.  To  her  belongs  the  pro 
vince  of  history.  Next  appears  Melpomene,  with  her  veil  and 
tragic  mask.  Thalia  follows  after,  holding  in  one  hand  her  mask,. 


4  ORIGIN  OF  POETRY  IN  GENERAL. 

and,  in  the  other,  her  wand,  symbolical  of  comedy.  Terpsichore 
next  comes,  dancing,  attended  by  Euterpe,  goddess  of  music. 
Then  appears  Erato,  as  goddess  of  all  that  is  amorous  in  poetry 
and  song.  Divine  Calliope  now  comes  forward,  with  her  parch 
ment  scroll  and  trumpet  of  war.  The  Epic  is  her  department  of 
poesy.  Urania  lays  claim  to  the  province  of  divine  astronomy; 
and  as  symbolical  of  the  same,  holds  in  one  hand  a  celestial 
sphere,  in  the  other,  her  astronomical  rod.  Last  comes  Poly 
hymnia,  with  one  finger  upon  her  lips,  while  she  holds  in  her 
hand  the  scroll  of  eloquence.  Such  is  the  choir  of  muses;  such 
were  they  when  Homer  sang,  and  Hesiod  wrote.  Then,  also, 
Greece  was  ascending  that  pinnacle  whence  a  flood  of  glory  has 
already  gushed,  and  still  gleams  to  enlighten  the  minds  of  nations. 


DISSERTATION   IV. 

ORIGIN  OF  POETRY  IN  GENERAL. 

Great  is  the  error  that  would  make  poetry  and  music  peculiar 
to  polished  nations.  They  are  found  united  in  every  savage 
nation,  and  they  were  united  in  Greece.  Savages  have  ever 
had  their  war  and  their  death-songs;  their  odes  also  to  their  mul 
titudinous  deities.  And  when  a  musical  accompaniment  that  is 
instrumental  goes  with  these  two,  naught  that  is  sublunary  so 
effectually  presents  to  the  mind  that  feeling  of  ecstasy,  to  be 
realized  only  amid  the  choirs  of  heaven.  What  says  seraphic 

Milton? 

"  That  undisturbed  song  of  pure  consent, 
Aye  sung  around  the  sapphire-colour'd  throne; 
Where  the  bright  seraphim  in  burning  row, 
Their  loud,  uplifted  angel  trumpets  blow; 
And  the  cherubic  hosts  in  thousand  choirs, 
Strike  their  celestial  harps  of  golden  wires." 

•  Poetry  and  music  evidently  appear  to  have  their  foundation  in 
the  nature  of  man.  They  belong  to  every  nation  and  to  every 
age.  In  order  to  explain  their  rise,  we  must  of  necessity  have 
recourse  to  man  while  living  in  the  desert  and  the  wild.  We 
must  go  back  to  the  age  of  hunters  and  of  shepherds,  when  sim 
plicity  characterized  manners,  and  characterized  man.  In  the 
early  state  of  Greece,  therefore,  soon  after  the  days  of  the  Pelas- 


ORIGIN  OF  POETRY  IN  GENERAL.  5 

gi,  we  discern  those  rude  effusions,  made  to  celebrate  their  reli 
gious  festivals;  to  lament  their  public  and  private  calamities;  the 
death  of  friends  and  the  loss  of  warriors;  to  express  joy  on  their 
victories,  and  the  victories  of  their  heroes.  In  her  barbarian 
state,  therefore,  Greece  had  her  poetry  and  song.  There  is  a 
power  in  them  which  delights  the  wildest  of  barbarians.  History 
bears  witness  to  the  fact,  and  in  addition,  tells  us  that  the  philo 
sophers  and  statesmen  of  Greece  delivered  their  instructions  first 
in  song.  And  wherefore?  Because  in  the  age  of  tradition  verse 
would  lend  more  than  a  temporary  assistance  to  memory.  Mi 
nos  and  Thales,  according  to  Strabo,  sang  to  the  lyre  the  laws 
which  they  composed.  And  previous  to  the  age  of  Herodotus, 
history  appears  in  no  other  form  than  that  of  poetic  story.  Such 
is  the  origin  of  poetry  in  Greece;  and  such  is  it  in  the  primitive 
periods  of  every  nation.  The  same  enthusiasm  and  fire  mark 
the  early  poetry  of  all.  To  all  are  the  same  bold  and  extrava 
gant  figures.  Mankind  resemble  each  other  too  much,  in  the 
beginnings  of  society,  for  any  one  to  pronounce  the  hyperbolical 
manner  more  oriental  than  belonging  to  the  west.  It  is  peculiar 
to  the  east;  it  is  peculiar  also  to  the  great  and  widely  extended 
west.  One  thing  of  necessity  would  occasion  a  diversity  in  the 
strain  of  the  first  poetry  of  Greece,  as  also  in  that  of  her  kindred 
nations;  and  that  is,  variety  of  climate  and  manner  of  living. 
The  songs  of  the  Goth  are  of  slaughter  and  of  blood;  the  songs 
of  the  effeminate  children  of  the  incas  of  Peru,  and  of  the  seques 
tered  men  of  China,  are  of  the  milder  cast.  The  poetry  of  Athens 
had  a  cast  of  the  philosophical.  Poetry,  in  short,  was  first  sung, 
and  of  consequence,  falling  into  regular  numbers,  we  see  the 
origin  of  one  grand  characteristic  of  the  noble  art,  to  which  is 
given  the  appellation  of  verse.  So  much  upon  the  rise  of  poetry 
in  classic  Greece, 


DISSERTATION   V. 

WHAT    IS    POETRY? 

What  is  it  that  constitutes  genuine  poetry?  what  is  that  some 
thing  in  which  true  poetry  consists?  In  order  to  answer  this 
difficult  question,  the  term  itself  requires  explanation.  It  is  of 
Grecian  original.  When  poetry  had  in  some  measure  lost  its 


6  WHAT  IS  POETRY? 

sacred  and  mystic  character,  it  began  to  assume  more  of  the  form 
of  epic  narration.  The  minstrels  who  had  for  a  long  period 
borne  the  appellation  of  rhapsodists,  received  now  another  name, 
expressive  of  the  fact,  that  they  now  more  freely  indulged  in 
fiction.  And  because  they  were  said  to  make  .their  own  pieces, 
they  assumed  the  title  of  poets,  from  the  Greek  verb,  signifying 
poet.  This  explanation  introduces  us  to  the  nature  of  the  noble 
art.  Every  mind  of  taste  knows  the  difficulty  of  giving  an  accu 
rate,  concise  definition  to  the  thing  in  question.  To  define  it, 
let  us  show  what  poetry  is  not.  Many  of  the  ancients  consider 
ed  poetry  an  imitative  art.  This  is  manifestly  inaccurate.  Be 
cause  it  is  a  definition  too  comprehensive,  as  it  is  too  limited. 
Too  comprehensive,  because  painting  and  sculpture  are  likewise 
imitative.  Too  limited,  because  it  would  thereby  exclude  many 
departments  of  the  art  not  properly  imitative,  but  expressive — 
departments,  too,  which  copy1  not  in  any  sense  the  thoughts  and 
actions  of  Others,  but  are  the  creations  of  the  poet's  fancy  alone. 
— Creations  from  an  overflow  of  a  feeling  of  pleasure  or  of  pain. 
Again,  poetry  is  not  accurately  defined,  the  art  of  expressing  our 
thoughts  by  fiction.  The  novel  and  romance  lay  equal  claim  to 
this.  Fiction  is  their  great  support  also.  Shall  we  then  say  that 
metrical  form  constitutes  the  essence  of  the  art?  We  say,  No. 
Nor  does  it  constitute  one  of  the  absolute  essentials  of  it.  Me 
trical  form  may  heighten  the  effect  of  poetry;  may  increase  its 
charm,  by  enlisting  the  aid  of  musical  sound  on  the  side  of  ima 
ginative  language,  and  powerfully  touching  sentiment;  still,  we 
regard  it  as  only  one  of  the  externals  of  the  art.  Verse  can  never 
constitute  true  poetry  simply  of  itself;  and  without  it,  poetry  may 
be  not  only  conceivable,  but  also  in  fact  exists;  and  that  in  its 
most  impresssive  form.  But,  it  may  be  asked,  if  poetry  can  exist 
thus  independently  of  versification,  how  can  it  be  distinguished  ? 
Unquestionably  by  its  own  peculiar  language.  It  speaks  so  feel 
ingly  to  the  mind  that  it  cannot  be  misunderstood.  Its  very 
thoughts,  though  silent,  speak,  and  its  very  words  burn. 

What  therefore  is  poetry? 

It  is  that  art  which  has  the  creation  of  intellectual  pleasure  for 
its  immediate  object;  attaining  that  end  by  the  use  of  a  language 
truly  natural,  in  an  excited  state  of  the  feelings  and  imagination; 
in  general,  also,  though  not  of  necessity,  expressed  in  regular 
numbers.  Poetry,  says  Rome's  lyric  bard,  should  be  like  a  pic- 


WHAT  IS  POETRY!  7 

ture.  It  should  employ  words  so  as  to  produce  an  illusion  on 
the  imagination,  accomplishing  thereby  the  same  that  is  effected 
by  the  li'mner's  colours.  So  one  of  England's  great  poets  de 
scribes  it, — 

"  Like  as  imagination  bodies  forth 

The  forms  of  things  unknown^ 

The  poet's  pen  turns  them  to  shapes, 

And  gives  to  airy  nothing 

A  local  habitation  and  a  name." 

Poetry,  then,  should  occasion  an  illusion  on  the  mental  eye,  as 
the  camera-obscura  occasions  an  illusion  on  the  physical  eye. 
The  one  effectuates  its  object  in  a  darkened  room;  the  other,  in 
a  dark  age.  It  is,  therefore,  the  highest  proof  of  genius  to  pro 
duce  a  great  poem  in  a  civilized  age.  The  essence  of  genius,  as 
also  of  poetry,  is  invention.  Of  all  the  liberal  arts,  then,  this,  by 
its  very  nature,  stands  pre-eminent.  True  poetry  captivates  the 
mind  incomparably  more  than  any  other  of  the  liberal  arts.  And 
this  because  to  the  mental  eye  it  presents  that  which  is  loveliest 
and  best,  by  means  of  its  own  almost  indefinable,  but  ever  incom 
municable  art.  In  a  word,  it  constitutes  the  highest  of  all  intel 
lectual  enjoyments.  We  appeal  to  every  person  of  sensibility 
and  taste,  if  any  thing  can  equal  the  enchantment  of  true  poetry, 
even  when  read  in  the  silence  of  thought.  It  never  wearies.  Its 
force  cannot  be  withstood ;  for  it  sinks  deep  and  the  impression 
cannot  be  effaced.  The  test  of  this  noble  art  is  truth;  and  in  its 
most  artificial  form,  its  fiction  must  be  a  representation  of  truth. 
It  must  be  truth  in  the  spirit,  if  not  exactly  in  the  letter.  And 
because  it  is  based  on  truth  it  can  never  die. 


DISSERTATION  VI. 

HEBREW     POETRY. 

The  poetry  of  the  Hebrews,  on  account  of  its  antiquity,  first 
demands  the  attention  of  the  man  of  literary  taste.  Here  we 
perceive  the  sacred  Epic  in  its  highest  state  of  perfection,  while 
the  other  departments  of  the  art  are  almost  wholly  wanting. 
What  is  the  reason  of  this  peculiarity?  It  is  chiefly  attributable 
to  the  theocratic  nature  of  the  Jewish  constitution;  in  consistency 


8  HEBREW  POETRY. 

with  which  the  Levites  formed  the  sole  literary  association.  It 
might  be  reasonably  expected,  then,  that  they  would  devote  their 
poetry  exclusively  to  themes  having  reference  to  their  very  pe 
culiar  religion.  The  Hebrew  poetry  is,  of  consequence,  limited 
in  its  field,  though  within  that  field  it  has  attained  a  mastery 
never  excelled.  Its  compositions  are  chiefly  lyrical,  and  bear 
some  resemblance  to  the  classic  odes  of  Greece.  The  character 
istics  of  this  high  department  of  the  sacred  lyric  would  seem  to 
be,  unequalled  majesty  of  thought  and  expression.  There  is  a 
fervor  there  which  most  emphatically  suggests  the  idea  of  an 
inspiration  or  divine  afflatus,  dictating  through  the  poet  as  a  mere 
organ,  the  most  sublime  ideas,  in  words  of  corresponding  dignity 
and  grandeur.  What  a  profusion  of  imagery  is  there!  Imagery, 
too,  in  closest  unison  with  the  Hebrew  character,  as  also  with 
that  of  all  the  oriental  nations.  But  the  Hebrew  poetry  is  con 
templative,  immaterial,  and  spiritual;  dwelling  more  on  emotions 
of  mind  than  on  actions;  on  the  invisible,  rather  than  on  the 
outward  and  visible.  The  preponderance  in  the  national  mind, 
of  a  pure  and  religious  creed,  accounts  satisfactorily  for  this.  They 
were  under  the  influence  of  no  mythology.  The  first  verse  of 
their  law  showed  the  absurdity  of  this.  It  taught  that  the  gods 
which  had  not  made  the  heavens  and  the  earth  are  no  gods- 
When  they  beheld  the  "sun  rising  in  the  greatness  of  his  strength, 
then,  or  when  they  saw  the  moon  walking  in  her  brightness, 
they  kissed  not  their  hand."  To  naught  material  could  they 
liken  their  God.  To  no  likeness  dare  they  compare  Him.  Four 
remarkable  features  peculiarly  distinguish  Hebrew  verse.  It  is 
frequently  alphabetical  or  acrostic  in  its  form.  Its  constant 
figures,  parallelism,  antithesis,  and  amplification.  In  the  first 
members  of  each  period  of  Hebrew  verse,  a  sentiment  is  express 
ed.  In  the  second,  it  is  either  amplified  or  antithetically  con 
trasted.  The  most  ancient  specimen  of  poetic  literature  on 
record  is  the  address  of  Lamech,  the  antediluvian.  It  exemplifies 
all  the  three  figures  of  Hebrew  song. 

"Adah,  and  Zillah,  hear  my  voice, 
Ye  wives  of  Lamech  hearken  to  my  speech; 
For  I  have  slain  a  man  to  my  wounding, 
And  a  young  man  to  my  hurt." 

The  same  Lamech  is  the  father  of  the  first  inventor  of  the  harp 
and  organ.  The  invention  is  thus  celebrated  by  the  poetic 
Dryden: 


POETRY  OF  THE  BOOK  OF  JOB.  9 

"When  Jubal  struck  the  chorded  shell, 
His  list'ning  brethren  stood  around, 
And,  wond'ring,  on  their  faces  fell. 
To  worship  that  celestial  sound.77 

In  the  family  of  this  seventh  descendant  of  Adam,  music  and 
song  seem  therefore  to  have  been  united.  Their  origin  is  simul 
taneous.  The  next  specimens  of  Hebrew  verse  are  the  poetic 
testaments  of  aged  Isaac,  and  dying  Jacob;  together  with  the  songs 
of  Moses  and  the  beautiful  prophetess.  Then  the  prophecy  of 
wicked  Balaam,  when  he  beheld  the  goodly  tents  of  Jacob,  and 
the  tabernacles  of  the  people  of  Israel. 


DISSERTATION   VII. 

POETRY     OF     THE     BOOK     0  F  •  J  0  B. 

In  this  era,  considered  the  golden  age  of  Jewish  song,  we  be 
hold  the  poem  of  Job.  Perchance  it  may  have  been  the  produc 
tion  of  Moses.  Its  venerable  character,  however,  existent  for 
the  space  of  more  than  thirty  centuries,  entitles  it  to  more  than  a 
cursory  remark.  It  is  the  most  extraordinary,  as  it  is  the  most 
singular  production  of  any  age.  And  it  equally  demands  the  at 
tention  of  the  man  of  taste,  of  genius,  and  religion.  It  is  rather 
isolated  in  its  character;  not  truly  an  epic;  not  properly  a  drama. 
The  scene  is  laid  in  the  land  of  Idumea,  in  the  north  of  Araby. 
The  subject  is,  the  trial  and  ultimate  triumph  of  the  son  of  Zarah. 
The  suffering  hero  sublimely  performs  his  part,  in  the  presence 
of  men  and  devils.  The  Almighty  for  a  season  withholds  his 
aid — Satan's  malice  is  in  its  full  career  of  activity — hell  hopes — 
earth  trembles,  but  needlessly.  Fidelity,  however,  is  triumphant 
— Satan  is  confounded — and,  lo!  with  a  magnificence  worthy  of 
the  occasion,  Heaven  unveils  his  glory,  and  crowns  the  victor 
with  applause — who,  himself  astonished,  exclaims,  "  I  have  heard 
of  thee  by  the  hearing  of  the  ear,  but  now,  0  God!  mine  eye 
seeth  thee." 

Such  is  the  argument  of  this  wonderful  and  inimitably  divine 
poem.  And  it  detracts  not  from  its  merits,  that  it  accords  not 
with  all  the  rules  adapted  to  measure  the  modern  epic  and  drama. 
In  its  kind,  it  is  incomparably  beautiful  and  regular.  Well  may 


10  POETRY  OF  KING  DAVID. 

it  be  ranked  among  the  most  descriptive  poems  of  Mount  Zion. 
None  abound  more  in  the  metaphorical;  none  can  transcend  it 
in  beauty  and  sublimity. 


DISSERTATION    VIII. 

POETRY     OF     KING     DAVID. 

To  the  harp  of  the  son  of  Jesse  we  shall  now  for  a  moment 
direct  our  attention.  To  that  harp,  so  effectual  of  old  in  soothing 
the  dark  spirit  of  a  Saul — that  harp  which  has  not  yet  become 
discordant,  through  the  lapse  of  ages;  'and  whose  silver  chords, 
with  sweetest  melody,  still  delight  and  enrapture  the  assemblies 
of  thexsons  of  God.  The  songs  of  the  sweet  singer  of  Israel  de 
mand  our  attention.  They  are  the  same  that  cheered  the  soli 
tudes  of  the  desert  caves  of  Engedi,  and  resounded  from  the 
voice  of  the  Hebrew  people  as  they  wound  along  the  glens  and 
hill-sides  of  Jijdea.  The  same  that  have  been  repeated  for  ages 
in  almost  every  part  of  the  habitable  world;  in  the  distant  isles 
of  ocean;  amid  the  forests  of  America;  and  the  scorching  sands 
of  Afric's  deserts.  Psalmody  doubtless  formed  a  part  of  the  pub 
lic  worship  in  all  ages.  In  the  days  of  Enos,  the  grandson  of 
Adam,  in  the  line  of  Seth,  men  began  to  assemble  regularly  on 
the  Sabbath,  to  prefer  their  united  supplications  to  that  throne  of 
grace,  which  was  ever  then  present  to  the  eye  of  their  faith. 
They  met  together,  and  they  sung  praises  to  the  Most  High.  Per 
haps,  too,  in  some  of  those  songs,  which  the  aged  parents  of  man 
kind  had  been  accustomed  to  sing  in  the  estate  of  innocence. 
We  have  reason  also  to  believe  that  the  earliest  psalmody  of  the 
antediluvian  church  was  entirely  vocal.  They  sang  the  praises 
of  Jehovah  with  the  understanding,  and  the  spirit,  and  with  the 
voice,  alone.  But  the  harp  and  the  organ  were  ever  and  anon 
heard,  amid  the  tents  of  the  daughters  of  men.  Of  all  music  that 
of  the  human  voice  is  the  most  perfect,  as  it  is  the  most  appro 
priate  for  the  service  of  the  all-wise  €reator.  No  music,  for 
sweetness  and  power,  can  equal  that  of  the  vocal  choir,  such  as 
existed  once  in  the  imperial  cathedral  of  the  czars. 

The  king  of  Israel  was  the  composer  of  the- greatest  number  of 
the  scripture  psalms,  which  same  he  also  had  set  to  music.  His 


POETRY  OF  KING  DAVID.  11 

institutions  relative  to  them  were  doubtless  the  most  grand  and 
costly,  ever  got  up  in  the  service  of  any  nation.  Four  thou 
sand  of  the  sons  of  Levi  were  appointed  by  him,  and  the  same 
marshalled  under  their  respective  leaders,  whose  sole  occupation 
was,  to  sing  hymns  and  perform  the  instrumental  music  in  the 
public  assemblies  of  the  people.  Asaph  was  his  chief  musician, 
and  leader  of  the  choral  company  or  chorus.  The  sons  of  Korah 
were  the  choristers  of  Israel.  To  the  ritual  of  this  people,  whom 
we  still  love  for  their  fathers'  sake,  we  deem  traceable  the  ele 
gant  Greek  chorus.  We  shall  now  advert  for  a  moment  to  the 
Hebrew  song  of  degrees,  as  set  to  music.  This  manifestly  di 
vided  itself  into  a  succession  of  strophes  and  antistropfies,  an 
swering  alternately  to  one  another.  In  this  we  behold  the  origin 
of  the  responsory  in  so  many  Christian  assemblies. 


SONG     OF     DEGREES. 

A  more  noble  specimen  of  the  song  of  degrees  cannot  be  given, 
than  the  one  presented  in  the  twenty-fourth  psalm.  It  was  evi 
dently  composed  on  the  sublime  occasion,  of  bringing  up  the  ark 
of  the  covenant  to  Mount  Zion.  In  order  to  illustrate  this  part 
of  the  Jewish  song,  we  shall  use  the  metrical  version  of  the  psalm 
in  question;  and  prefer,  in  this  case,  the  plain  Scottish  version, 
because  it  is  most  like,  in  sentiment  to  the  divine  original. 
Others  may,  perhaps,  be  more  elegant,  but  they  bear  marks  of 
having  been  written  much  nearer  the  summit  of  Mount  Parnas 
sus  than  that  of  Mount  Zion. 

The  Jewish  procession  began  to  go  up  the  mount,  and  then 
the  semi-chorus  puts  the  question: 

"  Who  is  the  man  who  shall  ascend, 
Into  the  hill  of  God?" 

The  entire  choral  company  now  loudly  responds, — 

"  Whose  hands  are  clean — whose  heart  is  pure, 
And  unto  vanity 
Who  hath  not  lifted  up  his  soul, 
Nor  sworn  deceitfully." 

The  procession,  now  just  approaching  the  doors  of  the  sacred 
tabernacle,  the  chorus,  with  all  the  instruments  of  the  accompa 
niment,  exclaims, — 


12  POETRY  OF  ISAIAH. 

aYe  gates,  lift  up  your  heads  on  high, 
Ye  doors,  that  last  for  aye, 
Be  lifted  up,  that  so  the  King 
Of  glory  enter  may." 

Again,  the  semi-chorus  breaks  in,  but  in  a  lower  strain, — 

"  But  who  is  he  that  is  the  King 
Of  glory?  who  is  this?" 

Now,  the  whole  chorus,  vocal  and  instrumental,  answers, — 

"  The  Lord  of  hosts,  and  none  but  he; 
The  King  of  glory  is." 

Sucrt  is  another  grand  feature  of  the  psalmody  of  Israel.  It  is 
distinguished  also  for  the  highest  beauties  of  concise,  bold,  and 
figurative  expression.  To  its  conciseness  scripture  poetry  is  in 
debted  for  much  of  its  grandeur  and  sublimity. 


DISSERT  At  ION   IX. 

POETRY    OF    ISAIAH. 

From  the  pleasing  and  tender  strains  of  the  monarch  of  Israel, 
we  pass  to  the  more  lofty  and  sublime  ones  of  Isaiah.  This  pro 
phetical  writer  is  styled  the  prince  of  the  inspired  poets.  How 
deeply  prophetic  is  he,  when  he  depicts  the  coming  destruction 
of  unhappy  Jerusalem;  how  awfully  sublime,  when  he  describes 
the  descent  of  Assyria's  monarch  into  the  regions  of  hell. 
"Figure  to  yourselves,"  says  Professor  Lowth,  "a  vast,  dreary, 
sepulchral  cavern,  where  the  dead  monarchs  are  reposing  upon 
their  dusty  beds.  At  the  approach  of  the  Babylonish  king  they 
all  rise  to  hail  him.  i  Art  thou  also  become  weak  as  we?  Art 
thou  become  like  unto  us?  How  art  thou  fallen,  0  Lucifer!  son 
of  the  morning!'" 

The  passage  speaks  for  itself.  It  is  replete  with  the  awfully 
magnificent.  In  Isaiah,  then,  is  the  expression  of  all  the  pro 
phetic  poets  of  the  book  of  God.  Jeremiah  and  Ezekiel,  how 
ever,  had  fallen  upon  the  evil  days  of  their  ill-fated  country. 
The  effects  thereof  are  clearly  visible  in  the  melancholy  strains 
of  the  former,  as  also  in  some  of  the  powerfully  impressive  ones 
of  the  latter. 


V 

CAUSES  OF  THE  PECULIARITIES  OF  HEBREW  SONG.       13 
DISSERTATION   X. 

CAUSES     OF     THE     PECULIARITIES     OF     HEBREW     SONG. 

The  Hebrew  poet  had  before  him,  instead  of  a  natural  and 
visible  Olympus  and  Acheron,  sketched  out  in  dim  but  awful 
vision,  the  idea  of  heaven  and  hell,  encompassed  by  an  eternity 
on  this  side  and  an  eternity  on  that;  a  conception  heightened  also 
by  a  sense  of  moral  responsibility;  and  of  eternal  punishment  or 
happiness  beyond  the  grave.  The  solemn,  the  pathetic,  the  infi 
nite,  and  the  immaterial  are  characteristic  of  scripture  poesy. 
And  this  because  it  is  the  poetry  of  revelation.  The  writers  had 
the  impulse  of  the  Spirit  upon  their  souls.  The  Divine  guidance 
infallibly  directed  their  minds.  They  therefore  speak  to  tlte 
heart,  the  hopes,  and  the  fears  of  man.  And  while  they  force 
upon  the  mind  the  immaterial  and  invisible,  they  present  also  a 
glimpse  of  that  glory  which  eye  hath  not  seen.  "  Hold  my  right 
hand,  Almighty,  and  me  teach,"  doubtless  was  the  prayer  of  the 
Hebrew  bards.  And  they  struck  the  sacred  lyre  to  notes  har 
monious  with  the  morning  stars,  and  woke  the  echoes  of  eternity. 
The  Divine  impulse,  then,  is  the  immediate  cause  of  the  Hebrew 
*poet's  excellence.  There  are  also  secondary  causes  of  this  pre 
eminence.  They  viewed  .themselves  as  God's  peculiar  people, 
from  whom  the  Saviour  should  spring.  Over  Egypt's  king  they 
knew  they  had  triumphed  gloriously.  They  had  recollections 
also  of  their  wanderings  in  a  desert  land,  where  they  found  no 
water  save  that  of  the  rock  that  followed  them.  They  had  heard 
the  thunders  of  Sinai's  fiery  summit.  They  had  also  beheld  its 
visible  smoke.  They  had  a  religion,  moreover,  which  demanded 
worship  in  the  temple  of  the  heart.  But,  again,  they  were  ever 
a  nation  of  shepherds,  husbandmen,  and  warriors.  The  physical 
features  of  the  land  of  Judea  tended,  in  no  small  degree,  to  sti 
mulate  the  imagination,  and  call  it  forth  into  poetic  action.  Its 
climate  appeared  bright  and  cheerful— its  plains  fertile — its  moun 
tains  of  bleak  and  solitary  grandeur — their  summits  crowned 
with  cedars,  lofty  as  those  of  Lebanon.  "Who  would  not  wonder, 
then,  were  their  poetry  not  characterized  by  a  feeling  of  national 
pride,  sublimity,  and  pathos? 


14  EULOGIUM  ON  HOMER. 

Such  truly  is  Judea,  in  some  measure,  still.  Oriental  travel 
lers  tell  of  Lebanon  yet  standing,  in  all  his  wild,  imperishable 
glory.  His  tall  cedars  stand  yet,  as  it  were,  sentinels  between 
time  and  eternity.  Thrones,  and  religions,  and  principalities 
and  powers  have  passed  away,  like  the  winds  that  howl  through 
their  branches;  but  they  under  which  the  prophets  sang,  stand  on 
their  mountain's  brow,  immortal!  The  voice  of  time  howls 
through  them,  like  the  voice  of  eternity.  Yet  living  witnesses 
to  the  truth  of  the  inspired  bards,  they  endure,  and  shall,  till  the 
temple  be  again  erected,  and  the  restored  sons  of  Jacob  again 
worship  there. 

"  Blest  land  of  Judea,  thrice  hallow'd  by  song, 
Where  the  holiest  of  memories  pilgrim-like  throng; 
In  the  shade  of  thy  palms,  by  the  shore  of  thy  sea, 
On  the  hills  of  thy  beauty,  my  heart  is  with  thee.'; 


DISSERTATION   XL 

EULOGIUM    ON     HOMER. 

The  Grecian  is  the  second  great  cycle  of  poesy.  That  there 
were  poets  in  classic  Greece,  long  before  Homer,  none  conversant 
with  history  can  deny.  That  the  art  had  been  cultivated  ante 
cedently  to  him,  is  also  as  clear  as  internal  evidence  can  possibly 
make  it.  And  long,  doubtless,  was  the  track  travelled  over  by 
poesy  in  her  progress  from  the  rude  lays,  in  honour  of  gods  and 
heroes,  to  the  great  Homeric  epoch.  Many  in  number  were  the 
minstrels  who  had  sung  the  acts  of  the  Titans;  the  adventures  of 
Hercules,  Theseus  and  the  Argonauts;  and  many  doubtless  were 
they  who  had  sung  the  legends  of  the  catastrophe  of  Ilium,  in 
many  a  ballad,  and  many  a  rhapsody,  before  the  mighty  Homer 
arose,  to  give  unity,  poetic  vigour,  and  life  to  the  same.  He 
arose,  however,  and  the  faint  Hght  of  his  predecessors  was  lost 
in  the  splendour  of  his  sun.  The  tablet  of  human  memory  is 
barren,  and  they  have  all  faded  away  and  been  forgotten.  No 
one  of  the  ante-Homeric  poets  has  been  transmitted  to  us  in  any 
authentic  form.  The  Greeks  ascribe  the  origin  of  their  poetry 
to  Orpheus,  Linus,  and  Musaeus.  They  may  have  been  the  pris 
tine  bards  of  Greece;  yet  the  genuineness  of  their  productions 


EULOGIUM  ON  HOMER.  15 

seems  very  questionable.  Aristotle  doubts  the  existence  of  Or 
pheus,  and  Herodotus  questions  the  existence  of  the  others.  We 
deem  it,  however,  wholly  unnecessary  to  enter  far  into  the  details 
of  this  question,  or  whether  the  masterpieces  bearing  the  names 
of  Homer,  were  his  own,  or  were  the  productions  of  many  rhap- 
sodists  woven  together  in  a  collateral  form,  in  the  days  of  Solon 
and  Pisistratus.  We  shall  inquire  when  this  prince  of  epic 
writers  made  his  appearance.  Herodotus  informs  cis  that  he 
wrote  four  hundred  years  previous  to  his  own  age.  That  is, 
three  hundred  and  forty  years  before  the  advent  of  the  Prince  of 
Peace.  When  we  hold  his  poems  in  our  hand,  therefore,  we 
should  reflect  that  we  are  handling  a  production  next  in  age  to 
the  book  of  God.  In  reference  to  this  mighty  bard,  one  matter 
has  caused  a  world  of  controversy.  What  was  the  place  o'f  his 
nativity? 

"  Seven  Grecian  cities  fought  for  Homer  dead, 
Through  which  the  living  Homer  begg'd  his  bread !" 

It  is  a  remarkable  coincidence  that  the  two  great  epic  poets 
of  our  world  were  sightless.  Many  have  asserted  the  blindness 
of  Homer  from  his  birth.  The  assertion  carries  absurdity  upon 
the  very  face  of  it.  We  doubt  not  the  fact  that  in  after  life  he 
may  have  become  so,  like  his  great  compeer,  Milton.  But  to 
believe  him  born  so,  argues  want  of  intellectual  vision  in  the  in 
dividual  doing  i't.  Could  Homer  have  so  emphatically  pictured 
objects  which  he  never  saw?  Could  he  have  so  emphatically 
painted  them  to  the  life,  if  never  seen  by  his  natural  organ  of 
vision?  Certainly  not.  In  Greece,  however,  Homer  lived. 
There,  too,  poor  and  blind,  he  sang  his  epic  songs;  pieces  which, 
for  their  invention,  have  had  no  parallel;  and  shall  endure  while 
the  world  standeth.  Guided  by  his  elevated  genius  alone,  he  has 
presented  to  the  world  a  regular  story  in  verse,  which  cannot  but 
command  universal  admiration  and  regard.  Homer,  in  fact,  pos 
sesses  that  wonderful  invention  which  is  the  very  soul  of  Epic 
poetry.  He  personifies  every  thing  around  him.  War,  peace, 
arrows,  spears,  in  short,  every  thing  is  personified  in  his  writings. 
He  pours  forth  his  lines,  and  is  the  fire  himself  describes,  sweep 
ing  the  entire  face  of  earth  before  him.  The  impetuosity  of  his 
spirit  knows  no  bounds.  The  living  fire  of  soul  is  there.  The 
whole  circle  of  the  arts;  the  entire  compass  of  the  book  of  nature 
cannot  furnish  his  reflections.  His  genius  creates  a  world  of 


16  THE  ILIAD. 

fable,  a  world  also  of  wonderful  machinery.  If,  therefore,  you 
have  taste,  peruse  the  works  of  this  great  author.  They  deserve 
a  case  of  gold.  If  you  wish  to  know  ancient  manners,  read  him. 
He  presents  you  a  picture  of  the  pristine  world.  Unacquainted 
with  him,  none  can  be  a  finished  scholar.  He  should  be  read  by 
day  and  studied  by  night.  In  him  truth,  valour,  friendship, 
magnanimity,  and  piety  are  forcibly  taught.  Above  all,  peruse 
the  Iliad.  -There  you  behold  Homer  as  the  mid-day  sun,  risen  in 
all  the  greatness  of  his  strength.  We  cease,  however,  continuing 
the  eulogy  of  the  mighty  bard. 


DISSERTATION   XII. 

THE     ILIAD. 

The  Iliad  is  a  national  epic.  An  epic  is  the  highest  effort  of 
poetical  genius.  It  is  the  development,  in  heroic  verse,  of  the 
rise  or  fall  of  a  great  empire.  There  should  be  one  great  action 
broken  into  by  the  poem,  beginning  in  its  midst.  There  should 
be  one  prominent  hero,  episodes,  and  machinery. 

The  poem  of  Homer  it  an  epic,  and  the  great  model  of  every 
epic.  It  is  the  highest  effort  of  his  genius.  It  is  the  narrative, 
in  verse,  of  Ilion's  downfall.  Its  hero  is  the  far-famed  Achilles. 
The  action  is  simple  and  great — the  time  of  the  action  is  forty- 
seven  days.  "Achilles'  wrath  to  Greece  the  direful  spring  of 
woes  unnumbered."  Achilles  is  the  hero  of  the  story.  The  ar 
gument  is  presented  in  a  few  words.  The  priest  of  Apollo  prays 
Agamemnon,  king  of  the  Greeks,  to  restore  his  daughter.  He 
refusing,  Chryseis  supplicates  his  god.  Apollo  sends  pestilence 
to  invade  the  encampment  of  the  Grecians.  The  king's  augur 
consulted,  advises  the  instant  restoration  of  Chryseis.  The  king 
restores  her,  but  insists  on  having  the  captive  wife  of  Achilles. 
Achilles  resigns  her,  but  reproaches  the  king  for  his  rapacity. 
Mark,  however,  the  justice  of  the  cause  of  Achilles.  For  the 
sake  of  the  fair  runaway  Helen,  Agamemnon,  king  of  men,  had 
brought  the  assembled  Greeks  to  Troy.  Is  it  a  light  matter  in 
the  case  of  Achilles?  He  thinks  not.  Wronged,  high-minded, 
and  detesting  falsehood  as  the  gates  of  hell,  he  retires,  with  his 


CHARACTERS  IN  THE  ILIAD.  17 

myrmidons,  determined  to  assist  the  king  no  more.  In  this  mind 
he  continues,  till  Hector  slays  the  youthful  and  amiable  Patro- 
clus.  His  death  causes  the  re-appearance  of  Achilles.  His  mo 
ther  Thetis  having  presented  him  with  a  suit  of  armour,  the  work 
manship  of  Vulcan,  he  goes  forth  to  battle,  slays  the  murdered  of 
his  friend — and  loi  proud  Ilium,  the  capitol  of  Priam's  haughty 
empire,  falls. 


DISSERTATION  XIV. 

CHARACTERS      IN      THE      ILIAD. 

The  characters  drawn  by  Homer  are  most  admirably  depicted. 
He  has  excelled  all  the  poets  that  ever  wrote,  in  the  number  and 
variety  of  them.  In  his  characters  there  is  no  monotony.  They 
are  diversified  as  they  are  numerous.  The  principal  actor  is  the 
great  Achilles.  He  is  of  that  order  of  spirits  that  would  com 
mand  respect.  His  sensitive  soul  is  the  life  of  the  Iliad.  His  ab 
sence  is  the  cause  of  its  disastrous  action.  Mark  the  originality 
of  his  character.  He  is  the  only  Grecian  warrior  who  can  divert 
himself  with  music  and  song.  The  deputies  of  the  king  sur 
prise  him  playing  upon  his  lyre,  and  singing  heroic  story.  La- 
tium's  great  poet  calls  him  inexorable.  If  so,  we  perceive  him 
shedding  tears,  when  the  aged  Priam  begs  the  dead  body  of  his 
beloved  Hector;  and  Achilles  respects  the  gray  hairs  of  the  ve 
nerable  man.  The  noble  and  youthful  Diomede  next  rises  up  be 
fore  us  in  the  story.  Like  Achilles,  he  is  insulted  by  his  king. 
But  wise  and  warlike,  he  says  nothing  till  his  actions  have  spoken 
for  him.  Then,  rising  in  council,  he  rebukes  his  monarch.  Be 
fore  this,  however, 

"  No  words  the  godlike  Diomede  returned, 
He  heard  respectful,  and  in  secret  burnqd.'7 

Of  the  Grecian  heroes,  Ajax  and  Ulysses  are  also  noted,  as  they 
are  novel  in  character.  And  among  others,  the  venerable  Nes 
tor  of  Pylos  presents  himself.  He  had  lived  thrice  three  ages 
of  man;  had  conversed  with  Theseus,  Hercules,  and  the  first  race 
of  Grecian  heroes.  But  of  all  the  characters  most  noted  is  Hec 
tor,  the  bulwark  of  Troy,  and  the  ever  worthy  opponent  of  god 
like  Achilles.  To  admire  his  noble  and  tender  heart,  we  need 
but  peruse  the  episode  of  his  parting  with  Andromache  and  his 


18  CHARACTERS  IN  THE  ILIAD. 

youthful  son.     To  the  care  of  his  gods  he  with  confidence  com 
mits  him,  preferring  his  prayer, — 

11 0  thou  whose  glory  fills  the  Ethereal  throne, 
And  all  ye  deathless  powers,  protect  my  son ! 
Andromache !  my  soul's  far  dearer  part, 
Why  with  untimely  sorrows  heaves  thy  heart? 
No  hostile  hand  can  antedate  my  doom. 
Till  fate  condemn  me  to  the  silent  tomb  ; 
Fix'd  is  the  term  to  all  the  race  of  earth, 
And  such  the  sad  condition  of  our  birth; 
No  force  can  then  resist,  no  flight  can  save, 
All  sink  alike — the  fearful  and  the  brave ; 
Me  glory  summons  to  the  martial  scene, 
The  field  of  combat  is  the  field  for  men ; 
Where  heroes  war,  the  foremost  place  I  claim, 
The  first  in  danger,  as  the  first  in  fame." 

Hector's  weeping  country  and  friends,  best  give  us  his  eulogy. 
Helen  herself  perfects  his  character,  by  her  sentiments  respecting 
him.  All  others,  she  says,  who  bewail  him,  do  so,  being  bound 
to  him,  by  ties  of  reciprocity.  I  bewail  him,  because  of  the  un 
deserved  and  gratuitous  kindness  of  his  noble  and  mighty  heart. 
When  others  reproached  her  as  the  authoress  of  their  wo, 

" His  pity  checked  her  sorrows  in  their  flow}" 
Great  Hector,  however,  fell : 

il  And  great  honours  Ilium  to  her  hero  paid, 
And  peaceful  slept  the  mighty  Hector's  shade.'7 

Of  all  occurrences  in  the  Iliad,  what  can  be  more  affecting  than 
the  death  of  Achilles'  youthful  friend,  Patroclus.  Homer  has  ren 
dered  his  character  extremely  noble  and  interesting.  Mark  his 
unwavering  attachment  to  his  beloved  friend.  Again,  how  he 
sighs  for  the  fate  of  his  fellow  Grecians.  How  he  tries  to  excite 
the  compassion  of  his  friend  Achilles  for  them, — 

"  Let  Greece,  at  length,  with  pity  touch  thy  brea&t, 
Thyself  a  Greek,  and  once  of  Greeks  the  bes-t." 

But  the  amiable  Patroclus,  with  gods  and  men  against  him,  falls. 
Apollo  strips  him  of  his  armour,  Euphorbus  wounds  him,  and 
Hector  kills  him.  The  observant  steeds  of  Achilles  bewail  him. 

"The  pensive  steeds  of  great  Achilles  stand; 
Their  godlike  master,  slain  before  their  eyes, 
They  weep,  and  share  in  human  miseries; 


MINOR  POETIC  WRITERS  OF  GREECE.  19 

Restive  they  stand,  and  obstinate  in  wo, 
Nor  to  the  fight,  nor  Hellespont  they  go. 
Along  their  face, 

The  big  round  drops,  course  down  with  silent  pace, 
Conglobing  in  the'  dust— their  manes,  that  late, 
Circled  their  arched  necks,  and  waved  in  state, 
Trail'd  on  the  dust,  beneath  the  yoke  are  spread, 
And  prone  to  earth,  is  hung  their  languid  head." 

Homer,  in  this  passage,  shows  his  great  acquaintance  with  na 
tural  history.  The  horse,  by  nature,  is  remarkably  sagacious, 
and  not  unobservant  of  what  happens  in  battle.  And  that  noble 
animal,  that  fears  not  the  thunder  of  the  captains,  and  the  shout 
ing,  is  here  rendered  particularly  observant  and  affectionate. 

One  word  respecting  Helen,  the  beautiful  authoress  of  the  un 
fortunate  affair  at  Ilium.  What  must  be  our  thoughts  of  this 
beauty,  when  we  perceive  the  aged  Priam,  exhausted  by  a  ten 
years'  war,  and  all  the  old  generals  admiring,  and  acquitting  her 
of  being  the  cause  of  their  misfortunes  ? 

l{  They,  when  the  Spartan  queen  approached  the  tower, 
In  secret  own'd  resistless  beauty's  power. 
They  cried — no  wonder  such  celestial  charms, 
For  nine  long  years,  have  kept  the  world  in  arms." 


DISSERTATION  XV. 

MINOR    POETIC     WRITERS     OF     GREECE. 

The  great  contemporary  of  Homer  is  Hesiod.  Born  at  Cumaf 
but  brought  up  at  Ascra,  he  is  styled  the  bard  of  the  latter  place. 
Some  few  of  his  productions  have  been  transmitted  to  us.  His 
works  and  days — his  Theogony— his  Shield  of  Hercules, — -are 
the  most  important.  Hesiod  is  a  writer  of  elegance,  yet  rises  not 
near  the  height  of  his  great  contemporary.  Next  comes  Ar- 
chilochus  of  Paros.  He  is  the  inventor  of  the  energetic  Iambic. 

"  Archilochum  proprio  rabies  armavit  lambo." 

To  the  lovely  poetess  Sappho,  we  would  now  advert  for  a  mo 
ment.  Of  her  pieces,  but  two  or  three  fragments  have  survived 
the  wreck  of  ages;  sufficient,  however,  to  show  that  she  is  not 
undeserving  of  the  appellation  of  the  tenth  muse  of  her  country. 


20  MINOR  POETIC  WRITERS  OF  GREECE. 

Her  soul  seems  actually  made  up  of  love  and  poetry.  Perhaps, 
therefore,  it  is  for  the  benefit  of  posterity,  that  her  writings  have 
perished  in  the  ocean  of  ages. 

An  inconstant  lover  occasioned  much  misfortune  to  this  beau 
tiful  poetess.  There  was  a  promontory  in  Acarnania  styled  Leu- 
cate.  On  the  top  of  this  stood  a  little  temple  of  the  god  Apollo; 
in  this  temple,  despairing  lovers  were  wont  to  make  their  private 
vows,  and  afterwards  to  throw  themselves  from  the  top  of  the 
precipice  into  the  sea.  This  mad  act  of  an  unfortunate  lover, 
Sappho  tried,  but  alas!  perished  in  the  rash  experiment. 

Anacreon  succeeds  this  lovely  poetess.  He  sings  of  roses,  wo 
men,  and  wine.  Pindar  comes  next,  singing  of  heroes,  victories 
and  laurels.  The  former  melts  away  in  amatory  softness — the 
latter,  like  his  favourite  war-horse,  would  rush  fearlessly  on,  over 
every  obstacle.  Pindar  unquestionably  deserves  the  highest  rank 
among  the  lyrists  of  his  country.  Forty-five  of  his  triumphal 
lays  have  escaped  the  wreck  of  ages.  Every  species  of  greatness 
adorns  their  character.  Splendour  was  the  darling  passion  of  the 
poet's  soul.  A  glow  of  piety  is  apparent  in  many  of  his  odes; 
sometimes  he  breaks  out  into  expressions  of  most  profound  awe; 
sometimes  into  sublime  descriptions  of  Deity;  sometimes  present 
ing  an  aspect  of  moral  beauty,  which  bestows  force  and  lustre 
upon  the  lessons  of  wisdom.  In  Pindar,  the  lyrics  of  Greece 
had  just  attained  the  summit  of  perfection,  when  the  drama  arose 
into  grandeur  in  the  tragedies  of  ^Eschylus.  Soon  after  this, 
comes  the  decline  of  Grecian  song.  Corruption,  luxury,  and  loss 
of  liberty  hastened  that  decline.  At  this  period,  however,  one 
worthy  but  faint  effort  was  made  to  revive  the  Epic,  in  the  ele 
gant  Argonautics  of  Apollonius  Rhodius.  He  fails  in  the  noble 
effort,  through  want  of  fire,  and  originality  of  invention.  The 
most  interesting  of  the  works  presented  in  this  period,  are  the 
Idyls  of  Theocritus,  written  two  hundred  and  seventy  years  be 
fore  the  advent  of  our  Saviour.  It  may  occasion  some  surprise, 
that  the  pastoral  should  be  so  late  in  its  appearance,  in  compari 
son  with  the  lyric  and  heroic — and  that,  because,  it  seeming  to 
portray  a  primitive  period  of  human  life,  we  are  led  to  believe 
that  it  would  be  one  of  the  first  forms  of  poetry  in  every  nation. 
The  truth  however,  is,  that  it  seldom  appears,  unless  it  be  in  an 
age  of  great  social  refinement.  The  excess  of  luxury  in  the  cities 
would  then  force  the  mind  to  dwell  upon  the  supposed  simplici- 


PECULIARITIES  OF  GRECIAN  POETRY.  21 

ty  of  rural  scenery,  and  rural  life.  Such  was  the  case  in  refe 
rence  to  the  pastorals  of  Virgil;  such,  also,  with  respect  to  those 
of  Tasso  and  of  Pope.  They  seem,  therefore,  to  have  been  the 
growth  of  an  age  of  literary  refinement,  and  luxury.  Then  man 
would  naturally  picture  to  himself,  and  look  back  upon  the  life 
of  innocence  his  forefathers  led.  It  was  in  the  court  of  King 
Ptolemy,  that  Theocritus  composed  his  pastorals;  in  that  of  Au 
gustus,  Virgil  wrote  his;  and  Solomon  his  in  his  palace  at  Jeru 
salem.  And  now  at  the  moment  of  Grecia's  exhaustion,  we  see 
Bion  and  Moschus,  appearing  as  the  last  names  deserving  of  re 
cord  in  the  annals  of  poetic  Greece.  Poetry  has  ceased  for  ever 
in  that  poetically  inspired  and  classic  land. 


DISSERTATION  XVI. 

CAUSES     OF     THE     PECULIARITIES     OF     GRECIAN     POETRY. 

First  it  is  found  under  the  influence  of  Pagan  mythology. 
And  the  mythology  of  Greece,  was  in  fact  nothing  more  than  the 
deification  of  the  natural  world.  Beyond  this  visible  diurnal 
sphere,  the  bards  of  Greece  directed  not  their  vision.  They 
sought  for  the  tangible  and  material,  in  all  their  conceptions,  and 
in  all  their  imagery.  Of  consequence,  they  found  less  of  the  sub 
lime,  than  the  Hebrew  bards,  but  much  that  is  truly  beautiful. 
But  that  which  favoured  much  the  bards  of  Greece  was  this;  that 
love  of  liberty  was  there.  Liberty  was  ever  the  nurse  of  Genius. 

"Place  her  where  winter  breathes  his  keenest  air, 
Genius  will  sing,  if  Liberty  be  there; 
And  she  will  sing  at  Liberty's  dear  feet, 
In  Afric's  torrid  clime,  and  India's  fiercest  heat." 

It  was  liberty  that  bade  Homer  rise,  and  he  from  his  highest 
heaven  of  invention,  still  looks  down,  and  binds  the  world  to  the 
sovereignty  of  his  sublime  genius.  Time,  in  the  devastations  of  his 
march,  has  not  been  able  to  destroy  his  works,  and  shall  not,  un 
less  in  that  ruin  in  which  he  shall  involve  himself,  and  all  things 
under  the  sun.  Liberty  bade  Grecia's  poets  flourish,  and  they  did, 
till  the  man  of  Macedon  subverted  her  independence.  But  the 
physical  features  of  the  country  of  Greece,  as  those  of  Palestine, 
gave  a  cast  to  the  poetic  productions  of  the  same.  Their  cities 


22  LAMENT  FOR  GRECIA. 

also  had  the  same  tendency;  Athens  once  stood  as  the  centre  of 
learning,  and  light  of  Greece.  By  day  she  exhibited  the  inte 
resting  spectacle  of  a  busy  and  thronging  population.  Her  forum, 
her  groves,  her  theatres,  temples  and  palaces,  were  the  frequent 
resort  of  the  gay  and  the  intellectual.  There  they  studied  let 
ters,  and  there  they  plied  the  arts.  By  night,  she  was  a  city  of 
spectral-like  statues.  At  every  corner  stood  a  god.  In  every 
square  stood  the  images  of  her  multitudinous  deities.  And 
what  temple  had  not  her  complement  of  the  same?  The  queen  of 
night,  however,  no  sooner  shone  down  with  her  silvery  light, 
than  she  was  changed  into  a  city  of  motionless  spectres — imbo- 
died  in  numberless  forms  of  bright  marble  of  Paros.  Who  dis 
cerns  not  poetry  in  the  night  scene,  visible  here?  But  Greece 
lost  her  freedom,  and  with  it  lost  her  inspiration  too.  The 
muses  fled,  and  took  up  for  a  season  their  abode  in  Latium. 


DISSERTATION  XVII. 

LAMENT     FOR     GRECIA. 

The  muses  of  classic  Greece  have  fled.  The  golden  age  of 
their  song  began  in  the  reign  of  Pisistratus.  In  the  age  of  Aure- 
lian  the  silver  age  expired.  The  age  of  brass  followed  it,  and 
now  a  long  series  of  iron  ages  have  rolled  over  her,  and  in  our 
day,  have  not  yet  reached  their  end.  But  the  sons  of  the  heroes 
of  Marathon  yet  survive.  And  shall  we  not  see  once  more  the 
golden  age  of  justice,  liberty,  and  literature  arise,  in  that  wronged 
and  often  forsaken  land?  Shall  we  not  see  in  the  modern  Gre 
cian,  the  fire  of  his  noble  sires  rekindled?  Greece  in  her  glory 
once  was;  Athens  was;  but  her  glory  seems  for  ever  departed. 
The  last  gleam  of  it  was  extinguished  in  the  blaze  of  Byzantium. 
And  has  not  the  last  remnant  of  her  renown  been  annihilated  by 
the  ravages  of  the  unrelenting  and  merciless  Moslem  ?  The  Turk 
has  left  her  nothing  by  which  she  may  be  recognised,  in  her  for 
mer  greatness,  save  the  tombs  of  her  sages,  and  the  page  of  her 
imperishable  fame.  But  the  luminary  of  liberty  hath  again  risen 
upon  her  shores;  and  the  light  of  learning  again  gladdens  her  bo 
som.  May  she  not,  then,  shine  once  more  among  the  noble  ones 
of  the  nations?  Ay!  a  voice  from  the  tombs  of  her  noble  mar- 


PROSPECTS  OF  GENIUS.  23 

tyrs  and  sages,  a  voice  from  the  gory  graves  of  her  warlike  sons, 
cries  for  her  redemption,  and  that  by  the  hands  of  the  nations 
she  hath  taught. 


DISSERTATION  XVIII. 

CHRISTIAN     POETRY. 

Poetry,  Christian  poetry,  inculcates  universal  charity,  that  is, 
universal  love.  It  casts  a  halo  of  glory  round  the  atmosphere  of 
intellect.  It  elevates  woman  to  her  proper  dignity.  It  softens 
the  affections,  and  it  polishes  man  ;  it  excites  patriotism,  and  pre 
serves  the  memory  of  the  worthy,  by  erecting  a  more  durable 
monument,  than  the  pyramid  of  Egypt,  or  the  tablet  of  brass. 
Are  you  seeking  for  the  most  refined  of  all  pleasures  ?  You  have 
it  in  sacred  poetic  story.  There  you  may  draw  from  an  inex 
haustible  fountain,  containing  specimens  of  the  angelic  lyre. 
What  poet  never  fails  to  instruct  and  please?  It  is  he  who  draws 
his  scenes  from  Revelation.  What  is  it  that  has  smitten  down 
the  automatons  of  Pagan  Idolatry?  What  has  tumbled  them  to 
the  dust?  What  has  made  perish  the  deities  on  Olympus,  famed 
in  story?  Ask  the  poetry  lit  by  the  light  of  Calvary!  Ask  the 
poetry  not  wet  by  the  dews  of  Castalia,  but  of  Heaven! 


DISSERTATION  XIX. 

PROSPECTS     OF     GENIUS. 

Poetry  truly  is  the  work  of  genius,  but  "  genius  is  its  own  re 
ward."  The  world,  in  general,  looks  with  indifference  upon  ge 
nius  till  no  more.  Too  apt  is  she  to  neglect  her  ill-fated  children, 
while  she  flatters  the  pampered  sons  of  power.  Ask  the  graves 
of  a  Collins  and  a  White,  and  they  with  ten  thousand  others,  will 
with  their  now  sepulchral  voice,  answer,  that  such  is  the  fact. 
Truly  if  to  enjoy  the  applause  of  the  vociferous  mob;  if  to  amass 
property,  that  it  may  be  spent  in  self-gratification;  if  to  strive  to 
be  raised  to  the  proud  pinnacle  of  political  ambition,  be  the  sum- 
mum  bonum  of  earthly  enjoyment,  many  are  the  paths  to  their 


24  ORIGIN  OF  POETIC  ROME. 

attainment,  other  than  those  which  genius  loves,  and  genius  ought 
to  tread.  But  if  the  consciousness  of  lofty  thought,  while  in  fel 
lowship  with  all  the  good  and  mighty  spirits  of  the  past;  and  if 
the  applause  of  the  few  but  truly  great,  with  the  blessings  of  Him 
who  was  himself  despised  by  men,  be  more  than  the  earth  can 
give  or  the  earth  can  take  away,  then  genius  has  no  cause  to  mur 
mur.  "  Celeriter  transit  gloria  mundi." 

Truly  whatever  may  have  been  the  condition  of  genius  in  the 
past,  she  cannot  now  complain  of  similar  neglect.  She  is  now 
better  rewarded,  and  hopes,  and  trusts  for  brighter  prospects 
still.  In  America  she  may  have  a  secure  retreat.  The  temple 
of  liberty  is  her  city  of  refuge.  There  is  here  no  tyrant  to  make 
her  afraid.  There  is  here  a  nation  of  action.  The  age  of  action 
is  the  age  of  thought.  'Tis  action  that  elicits  thought,  the  hand 
of  tyranny  represses  it.  In  America  genius  may  yet  spread 
abroad  her  eagle  wings  in  the  noblest  flights.  This  land  of  free 
dom  is  emphatically  the  land  of  genius.  Here  the  investigation 
of  right  and  truth  constitutes  the  grand  pillar  of  our  support,  and 
the  proud  Palladium  of  our  liberty.  Our  nation  is  fast  advancing 
to  the  zenith  of  her  political  glory;  let  her  advance  also,  with 
equal  rapidity  to  that  of  her  literary  glory,  and  may  her  sun  ne 
ver  set. 


DISSERTATION  XX. 

ORIGIN     OF     POETIC     ROME. 

The  course  of  poesy  resembles,  in  some  measure,  that  of  an 
Arctic  summer's  sun.  Scarcely  have  you  perceived  it  dip  in  one 
quarter,  before  it  reappears  in  all  its  beauty  in  another.  So,  the 
genius  of  one  nation,  yielding  to  the  force  of  adverse  circum 
stances,  may  decline;  but  nature  provides  a  compensating  princi 
ple,  in  the  speedy  development  of  that  of  another.  The  ener 
gies  of  fair,  but  unhappy  Grecia  have  failed,  her  liberties  have 
been  extinguished,  and  we  discern  in  the  peninsula  of  renowned 
Italia,  the  rise  of  a  new  poetical,  as  well  as  political  era;  and  that, 
too,  with  a  national  character,  destined  alike  in  arts,  arms,  polity 
and  literature,  to  give  laws  to  the  world.  To  the  poetic  origin 
of  the  seemingly  everlasting  city  of  the  Caesars,  we  direct  our  at 
tention,  and  shall  endeavour  to  depict  her  extraordinary  rise. 


HER  TRUE  POETICAL.  25 

Rome  poetically  attributes  her  origin  to  .ZEneas,  the  man  from 
Troy.  The  first  two  lines  of  her  national  poem,  would  intimate 
the  fact:  "Arms  and  the  hero  I  sing,  who  first  in. obedience  to 
Heaven's  decree,  fled  from  the  regions  of  Troy,  and  came  to  Italy, 
and  the  Lavinian  shore."  History,  however,  presents  her  as  the 
city  founded  by  Romulus.  From  very  inconsiderable  begin 
nings  she  rose  till  she  became  strong  as  iron;  the  mighty  vi 
sion  that  the  Hebrew  prophet  saw,  and  seeing,  trembled.  Situ 
ate  near  the  mouth  of  the  once  yellow  Tiber,  she  appears  first 
like  a  diminutive  castle,  confined  to  the  mount  Palatine,  bearing 
upon  her  little  streaming  banners  the  singular  motto,  "  Rome  is 
an  asylum  for  outlaws."  Soon  after  this,  she  seized  upon  the 
Capitoline  hill;  and  again  after  a  little  period,  upon  five  others; 
whence  is  derived  her  epithet  of  Septicollis,  or  City  of  the  Seven 
hills.  Unquenchable  was  her  thirst  for  martial  glory;  and 
through  nations  numberless  she  made  her  way,  progressing  far 
beyond  the  ditch,  over  which  Remus  contemptuously  leapt,  and 
extending  her  imperial  sway  to  the  rise  of  oriental  Babel  on 
the  one  hand,  and  to  the  sea  of  Atlas  on  the  other, — to  the  re 
gions  of  dark  Ethiopia  south,  and  to  the  isles  of  the  once  wild 
Britons,  north.  Thus,  long  she  stood,  the  once  seemingly  im 
perishable,  ever  prosperous,  ever  advancing,  ever  vanquishing 
city  Rome. 


DISSERTATION  XXI. 

HER     TRUE     POETICAL. 

In  depicting  the  character  of  Rome,  in  reference  to  poetical 
literature,  let  the  inquirer  ask,  if  the  true  poetical  cannot  be  found 
elsewhere,  than  in  her  elegant  compositions.  Do  we  not  perceive 
it  in  that  consummate  wisdom  and  energy,  so  strongly  marking 
the  character  of  Roman  citizens? — in  that  unshaken  constancy 
under  misfortunes,  no  tongue  can  tell? — in  those  combats  where 
the  pensive  gladiator  bled,  the  sad  martyr  of  a  Roman  holiday? — 
in  that  lofty  Senate-house,  where  'mid  the  mad  assassins'  din, 
fell  beneath  the  thunder-stricken  statue,  the  most  complete  war 
like  character  of  all  antiquity, — the  murdered  Caesar,  whom  a 
Brutus  slew,  when  folding  his  robe  in  dying  dignity?  And 


26  EARLY  POETRY  OF  ROME. 

finally,  do  we  not  perceive  it  in  those  colossal  fabrics,  which,  like 
her  Coliseum,  baffle  time  to  moulder?  Already  has  time's  scythe 
shivered  upon  them;  for  while  her  gigantic  fabrics  stand,  Rome 
shall  stand;  when  falls  her  Coliseum, Rome  shall  fall;  and  when 
Rome  falls,  then  ends  the  world. 


DISSERTATION  XXII. 

EARLY    POETRY   OF    ROME. 

In  the  first  five  centuries  of  Roman  history,  Rome  pagan  exhi 
bits  a  mere  blank,  so  far  as  poetry  is  concerned.  But  as  we  are 
aware,  that  the  spirit  of  poesy  is  coeval  with  the  very  rudest  con 
dition  of  every  society  of  man  ;  as  we  are  confident,  that  it  is  a 
part  of  man's  very  nature,  as  also,  contemporaneous  with  his 
very  language;  she  also  must  have  possessed  her  legendary  bal 
lads,  the  same  founded  upon  those  mythic,  semi-historical  tradi 
tions,  so  often  afterwards  interwoven  by  her  Pliny  in  the  annals 
of  her  history.  True,  Rome's  brave  warriors,  like  those  of  the 
savage  Goth,  like  the  native  red  man  of  our  forests,  had  their 
war,  and  their  death  sohgs.  This  is  indubitable,  although  no 
relics  thereof  have  reached  our  days.  Poetry,  then,  being 
founded  in  man's  very  nature,  the  first  dawning  of  a  literary  spi 
rit  is  manifested  in  poetical  compositions.  Little,  however,  do 
we  know  about  the  poetry  of  Rome,  previous  to  the  introduction 
of  Greek  letters,  through  the  conquest  of  Magna  Grecia.  And 
the  first  insight  she  had  into  the  poetic  treasures  of  her  captive, 
is  owing  to  the  humble  attempt  of  Livius  Andronicus,  a. Grecian 
slave,  to  translate  Homer's  Odyssey  into  the  language  of  Latium. 
This  done,  in  a  moment  the  power  of  the  marvellous  seized  like 
enchantment  upon  the  simple  Roman.  Ennius  then  rises  up  to 
view,  as  the  first  really  deserving  of  a  lasting  crown  from  the 
muses  of  Latium.  His  fragments  prove  him  original,  as  he  is 
unequal  in  his  genius;  and  Rome's  lyric  writer  shows  his  dis 
cernment  in  pointing  out  the  poetic  fire,  as  it  lay  under  the 
verses  of  this  rude  poet.  In  citing  two  of  his  verses,  he  observes, 
that  transposed  by  every  imaginable  arrangement,  there  are  still 
before  you  the  scattered  members  of  the  poet.  Read,  also,  four 
of  his  lines,  descriptive  of  the  dead  of  night,  and  in  them,  you 


LUCRETIUS.  27 

may  see  condensed,  the  possession  of  all  that  is  truly  picturesque 
and  sublime.  Plautus  too  belongs  to  this  era,  and  also  Terence, 
that  celebrated  dramatist,  the  delight  of  the  Roman  stage.  Of 
six  excellent  Latin  comedies  left  us  by  the  latter,  his  Andria  is 
the  best.  All  his  dramas,  however,  are  of  the  serious  order,  con 
taining  beautiful  pictures  of  private  life,  as  also  of  those  distresses, 
which  ruffle  the  smooth  current  of  domestic  joy.  They  have, 
moreover,  a  very  beautiful  and  truthful  air,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
too  indulgent  father,  the  profligate  son,  the  knavish  slave.  The 
same  stand  as  models  of  the  apparently  artless,  yet  consum 
mately  artful  and  expressive. 


DISSERTATION  XXIII. 

LUCRETIUS. 

The  next  writer  of  poetical  eminence  after  Terence,  is  the  un 
happy  Lucretius,  remarkable  as  the  composer  of  a  great  philoso 
phical  poem,  entitled,  "  De  Rerum  Natura  " — a  description  of  the 
nature  of  things.  To  the  precision  of  a  philosopher,  this  man 
adds  all  the  native  fire  and  fancy  of  a  poet.  We  lament,  how 
ever,  that  he  gives  us  so  plain  a  digest  of  that  heartless  system 
of  Epicurean  philosophy.  Who  needs  be  told  the  awful  tendency 
of  his  mad  philosophy?  The  philosophy  that  teaches  the  doc 
trine  of  a  fortuitous  concourse  of  atoms;  fortunate  atoms  ever  ex 
isting,  and  in  their  own  time,  happily  coming  together  of  their 
own  accord — to  constitute  the  present  appearance  of  nature's 
things.  Mad  is  the  philosophy  of  Epicurus,  and  ruinous  as  mad ; 
for  it  would  exhibit  felicity  as  based  on  pleasure,  and  deities  en 
joying  immortality  in -the  bosom  of  perpetual  peace;  far  re 
moved  from  all  relation  to  sublunary  things;  neither  rejoicing  in 
the  pleasures,  nor  caring  about  the  evils  incident  to  humanity. 
Miserable  system,  that  knows  not  that  chance  is  an  unmeaning 
word;  and  that  there  sitteth  at  the  helm  of  the  universe,  an  invi 
sible,  but  almighty  Watcher,  who  directs  its  unerring  and  com 
plicate  machinery.  No  wonder  that  Lucretius  found  his  subject 
an  unmanageable  one;  truly  unmanageable,  as  it  is  unimaginative 
in  its  character.  It  is  also  dreary  in  its  details,  as  it  is  irreli 
gious  in  its  sentiments;  still  its  very  strains  employed  to  combat 


28  ERA  OF  AUGUSTUS. 

the  soul's  immortality,  bear  upon  them  the  sad  impress  of  that  im 
mortality.  A  deep  gloom  hangs  over  the  works  of  this  singular 
writer.  His  death,  too,  proved  melancholy,  as  his  writings  are. 
When  we  look,  also,  upon  those  of  his  contemporaries,  we  plainly 
see  the  motto,  "  Carpe  diem,"  so  indicative  ofpresent  enjoyment, 
to  be  a  fit  inscription  for  them  all.  Yet,  behold  we  not  inter 
mingled  with  them,  that  feeling  of  pensiveness,  which  seems  to 
give  an  interest  to  them  all?  If  this  be  so,  what  poetry  of  pagan 
ism  can  compare  with  that  of  Christianity?  None.  For  that  of 
paganism  is  overcast  with  the  sadness  and  dark  clouds  of  despair. 


DISSERTATION  XXIV. 

ERA     OF     AUGUSTUS. 

From  the  wild  writers  of  Rome's  republican  days,  we  now  re 
tire,  and  present  you  their  successors  of  a  different  character. 
Augustus  had  no  sooner  conferred  upon  a  subjugated  world  that 
blessing  of  blessings,  peace,  when  we  behold  a  golden  age  of  lite 
rature  and  poetry  arising  to  adorn  the  same.  Then  arises  a  new- 
poetic  constellation,  of  which  Virgil,  Horace,  and  Ovid  are  the 
brightest  stars.  To  the  first  of  these,  the  modest,  unassuming 
Virgil,  we  first  direct  our  eye.  The  cradle  of  this  illustri 
ous  man,  like  that  of  the  origin  of  the  city  so  poetically  described 
by  him,  is  enveloped  with  all  that  is  marvellous.  His  epitaph, 
however,  informs  us  of  the  place  of  his  nativity.  "  Mantua  gave 
me  birth."  He  studied  at  Cremona,  Milan,  and  Naples.  To  his 
fondness  for  mathematics  while  at  these  places,  may  be  ascribed 
his  ideas  of  luminous  order,  exactness  of  language,  and  masterly 
arrangement,  so  characteristic  of  all  his  poetical  productions. 
This  master  spirit  remained  not  long  either  inactive  or  unknown. 
His  talents  and  amiable  manners,  speedily  recommended  him  to 
the  good  sense  of  a  Pollio,  that  generous  protector  of  literary  men. 
No  sooner  had  his  eclogues  made  their  appearance,  than  a  pow 
erful  sensation  was  produced  at  the  city  of  Rome.  Their  uncom 
mon  poetic  excellence  and  beauty  induced  the  learned  Maecenas 
to  request  the  author  of  them  to  undertake  his  second,  but  greater 
performance,  the  polished  Georgics;  and  finally  his  yEneid,  a 
great  but  incomplete  national  epic. 


ECLOGUES  OF  VIRGIL — PASTORALS.  *  29 


DISSERTATION  XXV. 

ECLOGUES      OF      VIRGIL — PASTORALS. 

The  literal  signification  of  the  term  eclogue  is  a  choice  piece; 
known  also  by  another  name  of  pastoral  or  Bucolic.  In  his  pas 
torals,  Virgil  sings  of  flocks,  and  shepherds.  The  pastoral  is  a 
simple  poetic  imitation  of  the  actions  of  shepherds  and  shepherd 
esses.  The  form  of  it  is  either  dramatic,  or  narrative,  or  mixed. 
Simplicity  would  necessarily  characterize  its  fable,  its  manners, 
its  thoughts,  and  expressions.  And  why  is  it,  that  the  pastoral 
so  charms  us?  It  charms  us,  for  this  reason,  simply:  it  presents 
to  man  living  in  the  city  the  supposed  happiness  of  rural  scenery 
and  rural  life.  It  is  therefore  absolutely  essential,  that  this  illu 
sion  should  be  kept  up.  And  to  keep  it  up,  the  poet  must  ex 
pose  to  view  the  fair  side  of  the  shepherd's  humble  lot.  He 
must  draw  a  veil  over  its  miseries.  The  scene  of  this  species  of 
poetry  is  the  country.  The  rural  prospects  are  such  as  a  skilful 
painter  can  easily  copy.  Behold  the  little  purling  brook — the 
moss-covered  rock — the  sunset  tree,  all  standing  forth,  so  as  to 
strike  most  impressively  upon  the  imagination.  A  single  ob 
ject,  if  happily  brought  in,  may  give  expression  to  the  whole 
scene;  witness,  the  antique  rural  sepulchre,  set  before  us  in  the 
ninth  of  the  Bucolics; 

"Already  have  we  half  our  way  o'ercome, 
For  now  far  off  I  spy  Bianor's  tomb." 

Variety  is  also  essential  to  the  character  of  the  pastoral.  Its 
objects  must  be  ever,  new,  likewise  its  images.  And  though,  we 
say,  keep  out  the  miseries  of  rural  life;  still  the  shepherd  must 
be  sometimes  gay,  and  sometimes  melancholy;  and,  like  Virgil's 
despairing  lover,  bring  a  shade  of  melancholy  over  the  scene. 

"Mid  shades  of  thickest  beech  he  pined  alone, 
To  the  wild  woods,  and  mountains  made  his  moan." 

The  dramatis  persons,  or  characters  in  all  pastorals,  must  be 
shepherds;  the  amiability  of  whose  manners  can  alone  give  in 
terest  to  the  scene,  and  this,  by  reason  of  the  agreeable  contrast 
made  with  the  manners  of  those  engaged  in  the  bustle  of  city 
life.  The  pastoral  need  not  want  for  incident;  for  there  exists 


30  ECLOGUES  OF  VIRGIL — PASTORALS. 

no  necessity,  why  it  should  be  always  either  a  shepherd,  sitting 
clown  to  lament  the  cruelties  of  his  mistress,  or  two  shepherds 
challenging  each  other  in  alternate  verses.  Every  one  may  pos 
sess  its  own  various  and  engaging  incident.  Let  some  scenes  of 
dear,  domestic  happiness  appear ;  let  the  fidelity  of  friends  be  dis 
played  ;  the  affection  of  brothers  ;  the  rivalship  of  lovers;  the  un 
expected  successes  of  little  family  circles,  as  also  their  misfor 
tunes.  Observe  this;  and  there  shall  be  no  want  of  pleasing  and 
engaging  incident. 

The  two  most  distinguished  writers  of  ancient  pastoral  poetry, 
are  Theocritus,  who  composed  in  Greek;  and  Virgil,  who  com 
posed  in  Latin.  The  latter,  although  he  clearly  imitates  the  for 
mer,  yet  renders  his  pieces  peculiarly  his  own.  They  are  fine 
exhibitions  of  splendid  diction,  as  also  of  all  that  is  elevated  in 
sentiment.  His  first,  and  tenth,  irrespective  of  the  others,  are 
alone  sufficient  to  place  him  beyond  the  reach  of  rivalry.  Who' 
admires  not.  the  beautiful  simplicity  of  the  complaint  of  the  old 
shepherd,  as  he  sees  his  companion  lying  at  ease  in  the  shade, 
while  he  himself  drives  his  little  flock  before  him,  he  knows  not 
whither?  It  is  such  as,  with  proper  variation  of  circumstances, 
misery  ever  utters  at  the  sight  of  prosperity.  Examine  for  an  in 
stant,  the  tenth  of  the  beautiful  eclogues.  Its  scene  is  the  wild 
solitude  of  Arcadia,  whither  the  poet  imagines  his  friend  retired 
in  the  height  of  his  passion.  Picture,  then,  all  the  rural  deities 
assembled  about  him,  to  learn  the  occasion  of  his  sorrows.  Gal- 
lus  was  ever  the  muses'  friend. 

"  For  him  the  lofty  laurel  stands  in  tears, 

And  hung  with  humid  pearls  the  lowly  shrub  appears; 

And  pines  of  Msenalus  his  woes  bemoan, 

As,  spread  beneath  a  rock,  he  sighs  alone'." 

The  wishes  of  Gallus  are  truly  wild;  his  resentment  mixed 
with  tenderness;  his  language,  the  language  of  despair.     Mark 
how  he  comforts  himself  with  the  pity  anticipated  after  his  death. 
"  To  me,  how  softly  shall  my  bones  repose, 
If  thy  sweet  pipe  hereafter  tell  my  woes.7' 

Such  are  the  pastorals  of  Virgil.  They  are  the  fruit  of  an  age 
of  luxury  and  refinement.  Then  man  would  naturally  picture 
to  himself,  and  look  back  upon  the  life  of  innocence  his  forefa 
thers  led.  It  was  in  the  court  of  King  Ptolemy,  that  Theocritus 
composed  his  pastorals;  in  that  of  Augustus,  Virgil  composed 
his,  and  Solomon  his,  in  his  palace  at  Jerusalem. 


THE  GEORGICS.  31 


DISSERTATION  XXVI. 

THE     OEOROICS. 

The  second  work  of  Virgil  is  his  Georgics.  They  treat  of 
husbandry,  and  were  undertaken  at  the  earnest  request  of  Mse- 
cenas.  The  reason  of  the  request  is  evident.  Civil  wars  had 
rendered  Italy  almost  a  desert.  Caesar,  therefore,  having  set 
himself  to  promote  agricultural  improvements,  Maecenas  calls  in 
the  aid  of  Virgil,  reputed  the  wisest  man  of  that  era,  to  further 
the  same  object;  by  a  design  as  new  in  Latin  verse,  as  the  pas 
toral  was,  before  him,  in  Italy.  Besides,  Rome  was  ever  an  agri 
cultural,  as  well  as  warlike  nation.  In  the  first  ages  of  her  his 
tory,  the  haughty  patrician  in  the  country,  forgot  all  the  distinc 
tions  of  rank,  and  toiled  incessantly  in  the  fields,  like  the  most 
humble  plebeian.  Behold  one,  while  engaged  at  his  plough, 
called  by  his  people's  voice,  to  the  high  office  of  the  dictatorship. 
Emulous,  too,  of  his  sires,  a  Cato  betakes  himself  to  the  same  oc 
cupation.  And  Scipio  Africanus,  having  uttered  the  ever  memo 
rable  sentence,  "  Delenda  est  Carthago/'  and  having  effectuated 
the  same,  retires  to  the  privacy  of  his  pastoral  villa,  that  he  may 
rear  his  vines,  and  graft  his  trees.  Such  was  the  employment  of 
high-minded  Romans.  Such,  also,  was  that  of  the  never  to  be 
forgotten  father  of  his  beloved  country.  The  Georgics  treat  of 
tillage,  and  are  replete  with  every  embellishment  of  poetical  fan 
cy — delightful  landscapes — diversified  by  all  the  natural  occupa 
tions  of  Italian  agricultural  life — again,  gilded  by  sunshine,  cloud 
ed  by  storm,  and  disturbed  by  tempest.  With  all  these,  there 
are  commingled  most  masterly  allusions  to  well  known  events 
of  Roman  story.  Such  as  the  phenomena  attendant  upon  the 
death  of  Ccgsar.  The  sun  is  drawn  as  covering  his  head,  with  an 
ensanguined  hue;  Germany  hears  a  clash  of  arms  all  over  her 
sky;  a  mighty  voice  disturbs  the  silent  groves;  spectres  of  hide 
ous  paleness  are  seen  under  cover  of  night;  rivers  stopping  their 
courses;  statues  run  with  blood;  while  portentous  comets  blaze. 

But  Virgil  does  not  altogether  leave  his  husbandman,  by  the 
introduction  of  these  beautiful  little  episodes;  for  he  speedily  re 
turns  from  the  seeming  digression,  by  simply  laying  hold  of  some 


32  THE  GEORGICS. 

rural  circumstances,  arising  from  the  same.  We  mention  the 
episode  of  Aristaeus,  as  particularly  beautiful.  Having  been  the 
unfortunate  cause  of  the  death  of  Eurydice,  wife  of  the  tuneful 
Orpheus;  the  loss  of  his  bees,  comes  upon  Aristaeus,  as  a  great 
calamity.  Pensive,  he  stands,  by  the  source  of  the  river  Peneus; 
in  the  depths  of  whose  crystal  flood,  his  mother  has  her  fairy  ha 
bitation.  From  her  sea-green  chambers,  where  her  sister  nymphs 
are  reclined  upon  their  glassy  beds,  she  hears  her  son.  And 
giving  her  mandate  to  the  parting  waters,  admits  him  to  her  en 
chanted  palace.  She  afterwards  directs  him  to  the  prophetic,  but 
changeable  Proteus,  who  informs  Aristaeus  of  the  cause  of  the 
disaster.  Funeral  rites  are  then  offered  by  him  to  Orpheus;  and 
atonement  made  to  the  shade  of  Eurydice.  Upon  this  fourth 
Georgic,  Virgil  has  spent  uncommon  labour;  and  had  he  ran 
sacked  all  nature,  he  could  not  have  hit  upon  a  more  curious,  and 
interesting  subject,  than  that  of  the  waxen-work  of  the  indefati 
gable  bees.  Their  polity  and  government,  are  developed  by  him 
in  an  astonishing  manner. 

"Of  all  the  race  of  animals  alone, 
The  bees  have  common  cities  of  their  own ; 
And  common  sons,  are  ruled  by  mighty  laws, 
Their  country  and  their  gods,  the  common  cause; 
Their  sovereign's  foes  to  combat  they  defy, 
And  think  it  honour,  at  his  feet  to  die." 

What  armies  make  greater  preparation,  than  do  these  denizens 
of  the  hive  for  war?  Their  little  bodies,  mighty  minds  inspire. 
After  adverting  to  one  other  passage  of  the  Georgics,  descriptive 
of  a  storm,  we  pass  on  to  the  JEneid.  The  passage  is  excelled  in 
sublimity,  only  by  one  in  the  eighteenth  of  the  Psalms  of  David. 

"  Oft  have  I  seen  the  war  of  winds  contend, 
And  prone  to  earth,  th'  infuriate  storm  descend ; 
Column  on  column,  clouds  by  tempest  driven, 
Sweep  from  the  .sea,  and  darken  all  the  heaven ; 
The  thunderer  thron'd  in  clouds,  with  darkness  crown'd, 
Bares  his  red  arm.  and  flashes  lightning  round; 
The  beasts  have  fled,  earth  rocks  -from  pole  to  pole; 
Fear  awes  the  world,  and  bows  th'  astonish'd  soul." 

We  come  now  to  the  jEneid,  or  great  national  poem  of  the 
Eternal  City. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  .ENEID,  33 


DISSERTATION  XXVIII. 

ARGUMENT    OP    THE     ^NEID. 

Virgil  had  doubtless  in  his  eye  the  bestowal  upon  his  country, 
of  a  poem  of  the  epic  character.  Of  no  greater  work  is  man's 
soul  capable.  It  is  the  "Ne  plus  ultra  of  poesy." 

^'Nature's  great  efforts  can  no  further  tend5 
Here  fixed  her  pillars,  all  her  labours  end." 

Invention,  the  essence  of  genius,  as  also  of  poesy,  is  clearly 
manifest  throughout  the  whole  JEneid.  The  machinery  is  of 
the  highest  order.  Its  action  is  great,  simple,  and  interesting. 
The  subject  held  in  view  is  the  settlement  of  Troy's  unhappy 
fugitives  in  Latium.  This  unity  of  object  renders  all  the  parts 
perfectly  connected — every  episode  also,  having  an  intimate  con 
nexion  with  the  main  subject.  The  intrigue  of  the  poem  is,  also, 
in  perfect  accordance  with  ancient  machinery.  We  shall  pre 
sent  you  its  argument  in  a  few  words.  To  the  cruel  resentment 
of  Juno,  queen  of  heaven,  who  had  not  been  adjudged  the  golden 
apple,  as  the  prize  of  beauty,  by  the  son  of  Priam,  monarch  of 
Ilium,  are  attributable  all  the  sad  disasters  obstructing  the  de 
sign  of  the  pious  JEneas,  son  of  Anchises.  Human  and  divine 
co-operation  are  discernible  throughout  the  whole.  Hence  the 
tempest  sent  out  by  JEolus,  god  of  the  winds,  to  sink  the  Trojan 
fleet,  and  drive  it  upon  the  Carthaginian  shore.  Hence  the  ef 
forts  of  Dido,  queen  of  rising  Carthage,  to  detain  him  there;  as  also 
of  Turnus  to  oppose  him  in  war;  till  at  length,  upon  a  compro 
mise  made  with  the  Thunderer,  that  the  name  of  Troy  shall  be 
for  ever  merged  in  that  of  Latium,  the  Queen  of  heaven  fore 
goes  her  wrath,  and  JEneas  victorious  effectuates  his  object.  Let 
two  or  three  specimens  of  the  beautiful  parts  of  this  epic  be  ex 
amined,  and  you  may  in  them  discern  the  character  of  the  whole. 
The  second  book  remains  as  a  master-piece  of  all  that  is  deeply 
affecting  and  grand.  It  contains  the  great  night  picture  of  the 
sack  of  Troy. 


34  THE  SACK  OF  TROY. 

DISSERTATION  XXIX. 

THE     SACK     OF     TROY. 

Homer  ends  his  epic,  the  Iliad,  with  the  funeral  honours  paid  to 
the  shade  of  Hector.  Virgil  takes  up  the  story,  and  presents 
the  sublime  scene  of  Troy's  last  catastrophe.  In  perusing  it, 
we  cannot  help  imagining  ourselves  in  the  sad  scene  of  horror. 
.ZEneas  commences  his  recital  from  the  purple  couch,  on  which  the 
queen  had  placed  him.  The  Latin  verse  first  used  by  ^Eneas  in 
relating  Troy's  sad  disasters  to  the  queen  of  Carthage,  intimates 
his  drawing  out,  every  word  with  a  sigh,  expressive  of  the  hea 
viness  of  his  heart. 

"Infandum  regina  jubes  renovare  dolorem, 
0  Queen!  you  order  me  to  renew  unutterable  woe.'' 

And  now,  although  midnight, 'JEneas  goes  on  to  exhibit  what 
Troy  once  was,  and  the  great  glory  of  the  Trojans.  What  too  she 
is,  as  rent  from  her  old  foundations,  captured,  after  a  ten  years' 
war,  by  the  device  of  the  great  wooden  horse.  It  is  deemed  un 
necessary  to  start  a  controversy  relative  to  the  probability  of  this 
story.  The  contrivance,  however,  seems  necessary  to  the  poet. 
The  Greeks,  weary  of  the  tedious  siege,  take  it  into  their  heads, 
at  the  instance  perhaps  of  the  crafty  Ulysses,  to  rear  the  immense 
fabric,  made  out  of  a  diversity  of  wood,  as  it  is  called  by  a  diversity 
of  epithets,  as  a  pretended  offering  to  the  goddess  Minerva. 
Having  stored  its  immense  cavities  with  the  most  daring  of  their 
warriors,  the  Greeks  pretendingly  move  off  for  their  home,  but 
actually  lie  concealed  at  the  neighbouring  isle  of  Tenedos.  Sinon, 
a  lying  fugitive,  deceives  the  Trojans,  as  to  the  import  of  this  sin 
gular  device  of  the  artful  Greeks.  In  hopes,  then,  of  obtaining 
another  Palladium,  the  sons  of  Troy  admit  the  wooden  monster, 
although  Cassandra  protested  against  it,  and  cursed  the  unhappy 
hour.  At  the  raising  of  the  signal  beacon  upon  the  royal  vessels, 
Sinon  unlocks  the  side  doors  of  the  wooden  steed;  and  the  pent 
up  warriors  sally  out,  and  unbar  the  city  gates,  for  the  entrance 
of  their  fellows.  The  whole  army  of  one  hundred  thousand  Gre 
cians,  under  the  command  of  Atreus,  now  enters  and  sacks  Ilium. 
The  city  of  haughty  Priam  then  falls. 


THE  CHIEF  OBJECT  OF  THE  EPIC.         35 
| 

DISSERTATION  XXX. 

• 
HECTOR'S  GHOST  AND  PLIGHT  OF  JENEAS. 

The  most  remarkable  incident  presenting  itself  in  the  Second 
Book  of  the  -ZEneid,  is  the  Ghost  of  the  noble  Hector,  whom 
Achilles  had  already  dragged  three  times  round  the  walls  of  Troy, 
at  the  back  of  his  chariot. 

"  'Twas  now  the  dead  of  night,  when  sleep  repairs 
Our  bodies  worn  with  toils,  our  minds  with  cares; 
When  Hector's  ghost,  before  my  sight  appears, 
Shrouded  in  blood  he  stood,  and  bathed  in  tears.'' 

JEtneas  weeps  to  see  the  visionary  man,  who  answers  none  of 
his  inquiries,  but  simply  informs  him, — 

"Troy 

Nods  from  on  high,  and  totters  to  her  fall, 
Bids  him  escape,  by  some  most  timely  flight, 
The  flames  and  horrors  of  that  fatal  night." 

The  hero  finding  further  resistance  absolutely  useless,  on  ac 
count  of  the  vast  number  of  the  foes;  seeks  his  aged  father,  and 
taking  him  upon  his  shoulders,  with  his  little  son  linked  to  his 
hand,  hurries  out  from  amidst  the  falling  ruins  of  the  fired  city. 
His  wife  Creusa,  for  some  time  follows  him;  but  unobserved  by 
her  burdened  lord,  suddenly  disappears.  j^Eneas  in  great  distress 
returns  into  the  city  to  seek  Creusa,  and  gives  not  up  doing  sof 
until  her  shade  meets  him,  and  tells  him,  it  is  vain. 

"He  yields  to  fate,  unwilling  to  retire, 
And  loaded  up  the  hill,  conveys  his  sire;  • 

But  unaveng'd,  the  good  old  Priam  falls, 
And  Grecian  fires  consume  the  Trojan  walls." 


DISSERTATION  XXXI. 

THE  CHIEF  OBJECT  OF  THE  EPIC. 

What  is  the  chief  object  of  the  epic?  The  chief  end  of  every 
epic  poem  is  to  fashion  the  mind  to  virtue  by  example.  No  one 
can  rise  from  a  perusal  of  Virgil,  without  admitting  that  such  is 


36  WORKS  OF  HORACE. 

the  fact.  Piety  takes  the  most  prominent  place  in  the  character 
of  ^Eneas.  His  household  gods  are  the  constant  companions  of 
his  flight.  But  why  is  it  that  critics  endeavour  to  arraign  our 
Latin  epic  writer?  Is  it  because  piety,  and  not  valour,  is 
prominent  in  his  hero?  Let  us  ask  then?  Is  that  man  valiant 
who  can  see  his  gods  profaned,  without  daring  to  defend  them? 
Or  is  he  brave  who  could  abandon  an  aged  parent?  Or  he,  who 
could  desert  his  country  in  her  last  extremity?  The  same  per 
sons  deny  valour  to  be  an  attribute  of  JEneas,  because  he  weeps 
more  frequently  than  they  think  befitting  a  hero.  Truly,  if  tears 
are  argumentative  of  cowardice,  who  can  lay  claim  to  valour? 
What  shall  we  say  of  Achilles?  or  of  Alexander?  or  of  Caesar? 
Did  not  the  first  weep  for  the  loss  of  a  captive?  Did  not  the  se 
cond  weep,  when  he  heard  of  the  exploits  of  Achilles?  and 
Caesar,  when  he  read  of  those  of  Alexander?  But  wept  not 
^Eneas  out  of  tenderness  of  nature?  when  he  saw,  as  he  stood  in 
Dido's  Temple,— 

c*  In  order  pictured  on  the  wall, 
Whatever  did  unhappy  Troy  befall." 

And  wept  not  JEneas,  when  Turnus  murdered  his  young  con 
federate  Pallas?  Yes, 

"Go  search  the  ranks  in  danger's  dark  career, 
Be  sure  the  hand  most  daring  there, 
Hath  wip'd  away  a  tear." 

Men  would  thus  arraign  Virgil ;  but  with  more  reason  might 
the  ladies,  because  he  ungallantly  forsook  the  fair  Carthaginian. 
We  now  leave  Virgil  to  your  reflections,  touching  not  upon  his 
other  many  scenes  of  beauty;  leading  you  not  into  his  wonder 
fully  described  Elysium;  nor  speaking  of  his  shield  prepared  for 
JEneas;  descanting  not  upon  the  loves  of  Dido,  her  unhappy 
death,  and  her  meeting  in  the  shades  with  her  once  beloved  .^Eneas. 
who  became  a  momentary  visiter  there. 


DISSERTATION  XXXII. 

WORKS    OF    HORACE. 

The  second  Latin  poet  of  eminence  is  Horatius.     Born  at  Venu- 
sium  ;  educated  at  Rome  and  Athens.     In  the  great  battle  of  Phi- 


WORKS  OF  OVID.  37 

lippi,  he  tells  us  he  was  present,  and  speaks  of  his  shield  being 
shamefully  left  there.  After  the  defeat  of  the  patriot  army,  his 
estate  becoming  forfeited,  he  was  necessitated  to  apply  his  genius 
to  poetry.  His  success  gained  him  the  friendship  of  Virgil's  pa 
tron,  the  accomplished  Mxcenas.  And  soon  after  that  of  the  re 
nowned  Augustus.  Antiquity  has  handed  down  nothing  more  va 
luable  in  the  Roman  tongue,  than  his  works.  And  had  nothing 
save  his  odes  survived  the  wreck  of  ages,  we  have  sufficient  to 
show  the  high  taste  of  this  Augustan  era.  Odes  are  doubtless  the 
earliest  form  of  poetical  literature,  and  the  last  making  their  ap 
pearance  in  the  Eternal  City  ;  the  first,  however,  of  any  worth  in 
the  oriental  cycle  of  poesy.  They  were  so  called,  because  they 
were  usually  sung.  They  are  presented  in  three  forms, — sacred, 
heroic,  and  amorous.  It  is  unnecessary  to  dwell  long  upon  the 
merits  of  a  writer,  whose  worth  is  already  confessed  by  the  inha 
bitants  of  cold  Lapland,  as  also  by  those  dwelling  in  the  neigh 
bourhood  of  remote  Patagonia.  Of  his  satire  one  species  exposes 
vice  and  folly,  another  treats  the  same  subject  with  severity  and 
acrimony.  Horace  appears  principally  as  an  example  of  the 
former;  Juvenal,  who  lashed  the  manners  of  his  age,  would  be  the 
best  example  of  the  latter.  But  Horace,  to  use  his  own  language, 
has  erected  a  monument  to  himself,  more  lasting  than  the  empire 
of  his  country;  and  we  hesitate  not  to  say,  equal  in  duration  to 
that  of  all  sublunary  things,  and  which  will  perish  only  amid  their 
ruins. 


DISSERTATION  XXXIII. 

WORKS     OF     OVID. 

We  now  bring  before  us  Ovid,  another  great  poet  of  this  Augus 
tan  era.  The  reader  of  his  Metamorphoses  need  not  imagine 
himself  in  fairy  land,  for  he  is  really  there.  The  ground  is  that 
of  enchantment,  nothing  but  scenes  of  magic  lying  round  him. 
In  every  story  a  miracle  is  present.  Now  man  in  his  infancy  is 
willing  to  learn.  The  miraculous  renders  his  way  pleasant, 
for  nothing  delights  more  than  that  which  is  strange.  Ovid 
commences  with  his  Chaos,  and  leads  us  in  one  connected  chain 
of  metamorphoses,  till  we  arrive  at  the  death  and  apotheosis  of 


38  DOWNFALL  OF  THE  ETERNAL  CITY. 

Caesar ;  and  many  are  the  lessons  of  morality,  to  be  drawn  from 
his  writings,  which  are  fabulous.  Who  perceives  not  in  the  story 
of  Deucalion  and  Pyrrha,  the  moral;  that  piety  and  innocence 
meet  with  the  approbation  of  Deity  ?  In  that  of  precipitated 
Phaethon;  that  rashness  is  dangerous  to  youth;  that  a  parent's  ten 
derness  is  often  the  ruin  of  his  child?  In  that  of  a  Midas;  that 
our  wishes  may  often  prove  more  fatal,  than  all  the  calamities  a 
world  threatens  ?  In  fine,  we  remark,  that  in  Ovid  there  is  a  ma 
gazine  of  images  not  to  be  exhausted,  and  from  which  sculptor 
and  painter  may  largely  draw.  The  poetry  of  the  ancients  is 
the  source,  from  which  artists  have  ever  drawn  their  ideals  of 
all  that  is  beautiful.  The  whole  compass  of  poesy  has  been  re 
shaped  in  marble,  and  delineated  upon  canvass. 


DISSERTATION  XXXIV. 

DOWNFALL    OF    THE     ETERNAL    CITY. 

Rome,  mighty  Rome  pagan,  has  fallen,  and  become,  like  her  ri 
val  Carthage,  desolate.  Mark  for  a  moment,  that  time-stricken 
mistress  of  the  nations.  Behold  her  sadly  seated  upon  her  de 
serted  hills.  Mourns  she  not  the  fall  of  the  city  of  her  great 
ness?  And  does  not  her  fall  teach  us  the  mutability  of  human 
grandeur?  Who,  without  emotion,  can  tread  that  sod  ennobled 
by  so  many  ages  of  glory?  Truly,  the  awful  ruins  of  Rome's 
former  grandeur;  the  accumulated  memorials  of  long  ages  of  Vi 
cissitude;  and  the  noblest  works  of  art  and  genius;  all  unite  in 
giving  her  an  interest  and  dignity,  no  other  spot  save  Jerusalem 
can  boast.  Around  her  are  the  storied  fields  of  Latium;  the  Sa- 
bine  hills  transporting  us  into  the  romantic  periods  of  her  early 
history;  when  a  Cincinnatus  ploughed  his  fields,  and  a  Horace 
enjoyed  the  rural  pleasures  of  his  villa.  But  amid  her  amphi 
theatre  of  mountains  lie  her  ruins;  and  grass-grown  is  the  spot 
where  Scipio  trod  ;  Cicero  spoke ;  and  Caesar  triumphed.  And 
that  proud  Forum,  whence  went  a  mandate  eagle-winged,  to  the 
farthest  extremities  of  earth  her  empire,  now  presents  naught  but 
broken  pillars,  and  fallen  capitals;  sad  memorials  of  the  days  of 
her  pride  and  patriotism;  of  her  long  struggles  for  freedom,  and 


NATURE  IS  THE  POET'S  STUDY.  39 

for  power;  of  the  popular  tumults;  the  impassioned  eloquence; 
and  of  all  the  changeful  events,  of  which  it  had  been  the  splendid 
theatre.  And  what  caused  the  sad  downfall  of  that  city  of 
the  Caesars?  What  caused  her  sad  dissolution?  Seneca  was  just 
uttering  his  grand  precepts  of  morality,  and  mighty  Rome  pagan 
was  at  the  zenith  of  her  glory.  But,  by  one  who  is  the  Almighty 
Ruler  of  events;  who  with  his  iron  rod  throws  down  the  migh 
tiest  of  potentates  ;  her  days  were  numbered  ;  her  time  was  to  be 
no  more;  and  lo!  the  red  sons  of  rapine  pour  down  from  the 
hills;  and  rush  like  a  torrent  against  the  gates  of  Italy.  Host  af 
ter  host  they  come ;  Goth,  Vandal,  and  Hun,  and  like  an  over 
thrown  Colossus,  Rome  falls;  and  becomes  the  sad  Niobe  of  na 
tions,  recognised  only  by  the  renown  of  her  relics,  and  the  gran 
deur  of  her  imperishable  ruins. 


DISSERTATION   XXXV. 


It  is  the  great  magazine  of  nature,  that  supplies  most  of  the 
images,  which  decorate  poetry  in  general.  The  whole  range  of 
Creation,  intellectual  and  physical.  A  great  poet  is  of  conse 
quence  a  great  philosopher.  Need  we  direct  you  for  instances, 
to  prove  the  truth  of  the  assertion.  Witness  Job,  Homer,  Vir 
gil,  Milton,  Shakspeare.  Who  discerns  not  poetry  there? — as 
also  the  most  profound  philosophy ;  philosophy  of  matter,  and 
philosophy  of  mind.  Nature  also  is  the  poet's  study.  And  "who 
can  paint  like  her  ?"  Ask  her,  and  she  will  teach  thee;  yea,  all 
the  inhabitants  of  earth,  air  and  sea,  and  they  will  instruct  thee. 
But  mind  also  is  the  poet's  study.  He  must  study  man.  In 
short,  the  imagery  of  every  poet  must  be  copied  from  nature. 
The  true  poet  keeping  his  eye  fixed  upon  her,  must  copy  every 
particular  of  his  diversified  characters,  in  conformity  with  her 
unerring  standard.  If  he  does  not,  all  his  productions  will  be 
destitute  of  truth  and  probability;  creations  of  fancy,  monsters  of 
incongruity.  To  such,  Latium's  great  lyrist  alludes  in  his  art  of 
poetry  !  Such  is  the  study  of  the  poet.  Yet  the  poet  is  born, 
not  made.  Poeta  nascitur,  non  fit 


40   '  CLASSIC  LITERATURE. 


DISSERTATION   XXXVI. 

CLASSIC     LITERATURE. 

In  casting  our  eyes  aver  the  physical  advantages,  moral  beau 
ties,  and  political  privileges  of  our  country — the  question  will 
often  arise;  what  attitude  is  this  new  and  vigorous  nation  about 
to  take  in  reference  to  the  interests  of  Classic  Literature?  Is 
a  branch  of  learning,  for  which  European  nations  pride  them 
selves — which  has  furnished  them  with  models  of  elegance,  re 
finement,  and  art,  to  be  wholly  neglected,  or  only  slightly  culti 
vated  in  this  land  of  freedom  ?  Shall  America,  fair  America, 
discard  the  classics? 

On  the  present  occasion,  we  shall  advance  a  few  of  those  con 
siderations,  which  evince  the  importance  of  classic  literature  to 
American  youth.  The  beauties  and  excellencies  of  the  classic 
authors  constitute  a  powerful  reason,  why  they  should  be  sub 
jected  to  the  perusal  of  the  young  freemen  of  our  land.  It  can 
not  be  done,  without  laborious  and  diligent  application.  Time 
and  effort  must  both  be  devoted  to  the  object.  It  is  difficult  to 
climb  the  hill;  but  when  once  the  summit  has  been  attained,  an 
almost  boundless  view  of  beauties,  and  of  excellencies,  will  afford 
ample  compensation  for  the  toil.  But  is  it  to  Americans, — is  it 
to  the  descendants  of  the  men  whose  enterprise  first  settled  this 
vast  continent,  and  whose  energy  and  fortitude  wrung  political 
freedom  from  the  reluctant  hand  of  oppression — that  the  trouble 
and  difficulty  of  the  acquisition  will  be  regarded  as  an  adequate 
reason  for  neglecting  the  classic  writings  of  antiquity?  Where 
is  there  a  mechanic  art,  that  does  not  demand,  in  order  to  excel 
in  it,  both  mental  and  physical  exertion?  Far  be  it  from  us,  to 
leave  unexplored  the  pages  of  Homer,  and  Hesiod;  of  Pindar  and 
Sophocles;  of  Virgil,  Tacitus  and  Horace;  because  they  require 
the  steady  application  of  our  minds,  in  order  to  understand  and 
appreciate  their  beauties. 

Is  the  American  intellect  too  feeble  for  such  efforts?  Such 
an  opinion  would  be  a  libel  on  our  countrymen.  Are  these  wri 
ters  too  low  for  the  soaring  genius  of  our  youth?  Nothing  but 
ignorance  of  their  merits  would  justify  such  a  sentiment.  To 


CLASSIC  LITERATURE.  41 

confute  it,  we  need  but  mention  the  treatise  of  Longinus;  crown 
ing,  as  it  does,  the  collegiate  course  with  elegance  and  dignity; 
refining  the  manners,  modelling  the  taste,  and  consummating  the 
scholar,  and  the  gentleman.  Behold  this  author,  elevated  to  the 
highest  pinnacle  of  fame!  his  brow  wreathed  with  triumphal 
laurels,  and  irradiated  by  the  beams  of  literary  glory.  Analyzing 
with  impartial  judgment  and  the  greatest  perspicuity,  the  intri 
cate  subjects  of  criticism;  he  mounts  with  daring  flight  to  more 
elevated  orbs,  and  is  himself  the  great  sublime  he  draws.  Pos 
sessing  the  grandeur  and  vehemence  of  Demosthenes,  he  unites 
to  the  vigorous  imagination  of  a  Homer,  the  correctness  and  deli 
cacy  of  a  Sophocles;  while  he  participates  with  the  Roman  Cicero 
in  all  that  is  profound,  flowing,  and  elegant.  Who,  unless  fortified 
with  profound  classical  abilities,  and  capable  of  most  intense  la 
bour  of  mind,  would  pretend  to  expound  this  sublime  author? 
Who  shall  charge  feebleness  and  unfitness  upon  the  production 
of  so  great  a  critic,  philosopher,  and  scholar?  If  it  be  important, 
that  the  taste  of  American  youth  should  be  cultivated — if  it  be 
necessary  that  they  should  be  familiar  with  all  that  is  beautiful, 
and  sublime,  and  splendid  in  language — if  it  be  necessary,  that 
they  should  be  early  imbued  with  generous  and  noble  sentiment — 
then,  let  every  tongue  unite  in  urging  upon  the  youth  of  our  coun 
try  a  full,  and  faithful,  and  extended  prosecution  of  classical  studies. 
In  the  perusal  of  the  original  writings  of  the  authors  of  antiquity, 
a  youth  may  not  only  extract  generosity  and  nobleness  of  senti 
ment,  but  also  store  his  mind  with  a  multitude  of  excellent  ideas 
and  useful  maxims;  at  the  same  time  furnish  his  imagination  with 
the  beautiful  scenery  of  description,  on  which  the  mind  may 
complacently  rest,  in  opposition  to  the  storms  of  adversity.  In 
the  study  of  these  he  can  seldom  be  weary;  being  regaled  with 
a  constant  succession  of  new  objects,  and  enjoying,  in  a  small 
sphere,  the  gaiety  of  universal  nature.  From  these  too  he  may 
draw  many  precepts  of  morality.  For  herein  the  actions  of  a 
virtuous  and  happy  life  are  displayed  with  all  the  light  and 
gracefulness  of  tender  expression ;  while  at  the  same  time,  rules 
are  set  before  him,  for  the  direction  of  conversation,  calculated 
to  instruct  in  the  method  of  engaging  and  preserving  friends, 
and  to  reveal  the  grand  secret  of  becoming  universally  agreeable. 
Having  imbibed  the  sentiments  of  philosophers,  historians,  and 
poets;  youth  are  prepared  to  associate  in  the  respectable  societies 


42  CLASSIC  LITERATURE. 

of  our  land,  or  being  so  disposed,  to  visit  Transatlantic  regions; 
and  be  conversant  in  the  literary  circles  of  the  European  nations. 
Again,  by  the  study  of  these  authors,  the  retentive  faculty  is 
greatly  increased.  Memory,  like  every  other  power  of  the  mind, 
is  directly  augmented  by  habitual  and  often  repeated  exercise. 
As  language  is  an  endowment  which  has  elevated  man  above  the 
rest  of  created  beings,  who  have  it  not;  so,  its  acquirement  is 
seemingly  compatible  with  our  nature,  and  adapted  to  our  mental 
powers. 

By  the  study  we  are  advocating,  method  and  precision,  together 
with  the  power  of  mental  concentration,  are  given  to  the  opera 
tions  of  mind;  and  with  these  the  power  of  discrimination,  taste, 
and  judgment.  Since  the  multifarious  words  of  the  different 
languages  cannot  be  translated  into  our  own  vernacular  tongue 
by  words  exactly  consonant,  it  must,  therefore,  be  apparent  to 
every  unbiassed  mind,  that  the  ability  of  making  judicious 
distinctions,  of  separating  words  apparently  assimilated,  but  in 
reality  not  the  same,  is  one  of  the  most  important  powers  ever 
exercised  by  man.  The  knowledge  of  ancient  languages,  more 
over,  increases  the  power  of  commanding  words  nicely  adapted 
to  express  the  diversified  ideas  we  may  wish  to  communicate. 
How  is  it  possible  to  transfer  ideas  from  one  language  to  another, 
if  there  be  not  words  approximating  in  some  degree,  and  forming 
a  correspondence?  It  cannot  be  done,  sometimes,  without  recourse 
to  a  circumlocution.  If  the  attempt  be  made  upon  some  intricate 
passage,  it  must  be  essayed  again,  before  it  can  be  accomplished 
to  satisfaction.  It  is  this  very  attempt,  so  often  repeated,  which 
constitutes  that  discipline,  so  wonderfully  calculated  to  lead  to  a 
nice  and  exact  choice  of  expressions,  in  order  to  impart  ideas  so 
necessary  to  the  orator  and  writer.  An  acquaintance  with  classic 
literature  is  indispensable  to  the  attaining  of  a  perfect  know 
ledge  of  our  own  language.  For  the  English  language  is  a  su 
perstructure  raised  upon  it.  Have  not  the  most  excellent  of  our 
writers  been  conversant  with  classic  lore?  For  instances,  take 
Pope,  Milton,  Dryden  and  Addison.  The  study  of  ancient  lan 
guages  is  of  infinite  importance  to  the  Theologian,.  To  them  it 
constitutes  a  key  wherewith  to  unlock  many  stores  of  ecclesias 
tical  learning.  Infinite  shades  of  light,  and  diversified  colouring 
exist  in  the  primitive  pictures,  which  no  translator  can  perfectly 
transfer  by  imitation. 


CURIOSITY.  43 

Nor  is  the  study  of  classic  lore  much  less  important  to  gentle-- 
men  of  the  professions  of  Law  and  Medicine.     The  physician 
of  profound  learning  wilj  not  depend  upon  modern  interpreters; 
but  indignantly  spurns  the  interpretation  as  second-handed. 

Again,  to  the  civilian,  the  speeches  of  the  worthies  of  Greece 
and  Rome  are  highly  deserving  of  attention;  for  therein  cases 
are  stated  with  great  clearness,  and  argued  with  amazing  judg 
ment  and  subtilty.  Their  remarks  are  surprising  and  pertinent, 
their  repartees  quick,  and  full  of  vivacity;  they  are  bold  without 
rashness,  and  severe  with  urbanity  and  decency.  To  the  philo 
sopher  and  statesman,  the  necessity  of  a  knowledge  of  the  dead 
languages  will  not  be  denied.  The  most  resplendent  efforts  of 
human  genius  are  locked  up  in  the  writings  of  the  Greeks  and 
Romans.  And  it  should  not  be  forgotten,  that  the  ennobling 
views  of  Bacon,  and  the  profound  investigations  of  Newton, — the 
great  fathers  of  English  philosophy,  are  clothed  in  the  flowing 
language  of  Cicero  and  Tacitus. 

Such  are  some  of  the  grounds  on  which  the  cultivation  of 
classic  literature  is  to  be  urged.  Therefore,  while  under  the 
smiles  of  Providence  we  are  enabled  to  set  before  the  European 
world  a  brilliant  example  of  the  blessings  of  civil  and  religious 
liberty,  let  us  draw  from  them,  in  return,  the  intellectual  advan 
tages  which  the  same  Providence  has  enabled  them  to  bestow. 
Let  us  tread  like  them  the  path  of  classic  knowledge.  And  may 
we  always  estimate  highly  those  invaluable  writings,  which  ages 
of  criticism,  and  admiration,  and  description  have  not  yet  been 
able  to  exhaust;  and  may  the  time  never  arrive  when  the  lan 
guages  of  Demosthenes  and  Cicero,  champions  of  freedom,  shall 
sound  strange  to  the  ears  of  American  citizens. 


DISSERTATION  XXXVII. 

CURIOSITY. 


How  beautiful  is  the  principle  of  curiosity!  How  laudable, 
too,  when  properly  directed!  It  was  early,  as  it  was  extensively 
implanted  in  the  human  breast,  by  the  all-wise  Creator,  for  all- 


44  CURIOSITY. 

wise  purposes.  It  is  this  that  points  out  an  hereafter,  and  inti 
mates  eternity  to  man.  Who  can  tell  where  curiosity  dwelleth? 
Dwelleth  it  not  every  where?  Diversified  are  its  objects,  above, 
beneath,  and  around  us. 

Nature's  wide  fields  all  open  to  her  view, 
She  pants  for  ever  after  something  new. 
On  Fancy's  pinions,  her  excursive  soul 
Unbounded  wantons,  and  pervades  the  whole; 
Her  eye  expatiates,  and  her  mind  will  rove, 
Through  earth,  through  ether,  and  the  realms  above. 

Curiosity  may  date  her  birth  with  creation  morn.  Time  had 
scarce  set  his  foot  upon  the  pedestal  of  ages,  when  she  made  her 
advent;  for  she  was  present  when  the  angelic  hosts  shouted  for 
joy,  at  the  laying  of  earth's  strong  foundations,  and  she  shall 
not  expire  when  the  angelic  trump  shall  say,  "  Time  is  no  more." 

We  behold  this  noble  principle  in  the  seraph,  burning  with 
love,  as  he,  inquiring,  stands  before  the  Almighty's  throne.  Into 
the  mysteries  of  the  physical,  intellectual,  and  moral  creation, 
the  angels  of  God  desire  to  pry.  We  see  this  principle  early 
developing,  in  the  infant  gazing  with  inquiring  eye,  as  it  rests 
upon  its  mother's  peaceful  breast.  We  behold  it  in  the  pert 
child,  as  he  moves  about,  inquiring  the  cause  of  this,  and  the 
cause  of  that;  throwing  aside  his  gilded  toy,  that  he  may  grasp 
the  gaudy  picture.  We  behold  it  in  the  youth,  as  he  flies  from 
one  diversion  to  another;  and  from  one  study  to  another;  to-day 
delighted  with  boyhood,  to-morrow  desiring  the  stature  of  per 
fect  manhood. 

We  see  it  in  the  man  of  science,  as  he  turns  his  wondering  eyes  to 
the  starry  heaven,  that "  he  may  gaze  awhile  upon  the  ample  sky," 
or  when  he  descends  with  awful  tread,  to  view  the  silent  man 
sions  of  the  slumbering  dead;  searching  earth's  deepest  caverns, 
to  behold  what  may  have  been  hidden  in  her  darksome  mines. 
We  see  it,  again,  in  the  adventurous  mariner,  setting  out  on  his 
voyage  of  discovery ;  delighting  to  cross  the  mighty  waters,  to 
behold  the  wonders  of  God  in  the  deep. 

We  descry  it  in  God's  minister,  as  he  pores  over  the  midnight 
lamp  exploring  the  treasures  of  God's  word,  that  he  may  bring 
forth  out  of  those  treasures  things  new  and  old.  Truly,  the  eye 
is  never  satisfied  with  seeing,  nor  the  ear  with  hearing.  Nor 


MAN   HIS    OWN    GREATEST   ENEMY.  45 

shall  it  be  when  earth  shall  have  sunk  down  in  her  last  funeral 
fire.  Even  then,  with  wonder  shall  man's  eye  behold  the  sub 
lime  spectacle.  Yea,  with  wonder  shall  the  good  man  gaze  back 
upon  the  smoke  of  that  bottomless  pit,  from  which  he  has  been 
delivered;  and  with  wonder  shall  he  also  gaze,  as  he  stands  be 
fore  the  golden  gates  of  glory. 

Think  not  that  man's  soul  will  ever  cease  inquiring  into  his 
Creator's  work.  No;  upon  the  ever-during  hills,  he  shall  ever 
stand,  and  ever  gaze,  and  ever  wonder.  In  his  spiritualized  and 
glorified  body,  with  an  energy  ten  thousand  times  greater  than 
before,  he  may  perhaps  fly  from  star  to  star.  He  shall  then  lis 
ten  to  the  music  of  the  spheres;  and  then,  perchance,  in  earnest 
hear  the  melodious  strain: 

CtThy  hand,  Jehovah,  how  divine! J> 

Restless,  indeed,  is  this  immortal  principle.  After  man  has 
learned  almost  all  wisdom,  he  says  still,  Where  is  wisdom  to  be 
found?  More  wisdom.  When  the  mighty  English  philosopher 
had  run  through  all  the  circle  of  elevated  science,  he  said,  "  I 
have  yet  but  gathered  up  a  few  pebbles  on  the  great  sea  shore  of 
creation."  He  determined,  therefore,  to  seat  himself  at  the  feet  of 
Jesus,  and  read  the  Book  of  books.  Truly  "  eye  hath  not  seen, 
ear  hath  not  heard,  neither  hath  it  entered  into  the  heart  of  man 
to  conceive,  what  God  hath  prepared  for  them,  that  love  him,"  in 
the  paradise  above,  where  grows  the  tree  of  everlasting  know 
ledge. 


DISSERTATION  XXXVIII. 

MAN     HIS     OWN     GREATEST     ENEMY. 

Man  is  encompassed  by  many  and  complicated  evils.  Disease 
in  all  his  multifarious  forms  may  scatter  death,  and  cause  distress 
and  gloom,  to  pervade  the  nations  of  the  earth.  Misfortunes 
may  arise  to  cloud  the  mind,  and  storms  of  adversity  may  thicken 
around  us;  yet,  of  all  the  calamities  to  which  we  may  be  des 
tined,  there  is  none  so  baleful  and  destructive  as  war.  It  origi 
nated  with  man  himself.  Tired  of  the  few  days  allotted  to  him 
on  earth,  he  would  endeavour  to  render  even  these,  circumscribed 
as  they  are,  incomparably  miserable;  precipitates  himself  into 


46  MAN  HIS  OWN  GREATEST  ENEMY. 

the  jaws  of  death,  who  is  of  his  own  accord,  rapidly  advancing  to 

devour  him. 

Nunc  prodit  bellum,  quod  pugnat  utroque, 
Sanguinea  que  manu,  crepitantia  concutit  arma. 

"Nimrod  first  the  bloody  work  began, 
A  mighty  hunter,  and  his  prey  was  man." 

Let  me  not  fall  into  the  hands  of  man,  said  a  great  Jewish  war 
rior.  He  deemed  pestilence  and  famine  far  less  destructive.  In 
whatever  aspect  war  is  presented;  whether  it  be  in  the  garb  of 
intestine  division,  revolutionary  fury,  or  foreign  invasion,  it  is 
depopulating  in  its  tendency;  and  awfully  disastrous  are  its  re 
sults.  Its  cruelties  can  be  portrayed  in  no  softening  colours;  nor 
do  its  miseries,  when  depicted  with  all  the  vividness  of  imagina 
tion,  pass  the  bounds  of  probability.  Let  the  eye  of  the  philan 
thropist  traverse  the  fields  of  the  dead ;  of  those  despoiled  of  life  by 
the  arm  of  their  relentless  fellow  men.  The  sight  is  painful,  and 
dreadfully  appalling.  Behold!  the  sated  manslayers  have  re 
tired.  The  clamour  of  battle  is  over.  Silence  and  sable  horror 
resume  their  awful  sway;  and  desolation  holds  her  dreary  court, 
to  which  ill-omened  birds  resort,  shrieking  their  mournful  dirge, 
with  piercing  note.  Pity  flows  not  for  the  dead.  Morn  glim 
mers  over  the  hills,  silence  and  darkness,  every  where.  No 
living  foe  is  seen,  but  many  enemies  and  friends  sleep  commin 
gled  in  the  arms  of  death.  The  murmur  of  the  breeze,  raising 
their  gory  locks,  awakes  them  not,  but  to  birds  carnivorous,  as  to 
living  sepulchres  are  the  slain  resigned.  No  monumental  stone 
is  raised  to  designate  the  spot,  but  bleaching  bones,  and  an  unef- 
facing  stain  long  mark  the  field  of  battle.  Let  .it  not  be  ima 
gined  that  this  is  the  creation  of  enthusiastic  fancy,  or  a  wish  to 
exaggerate  the  horrors  of  war. 

"  Go!  ask  the  Greek, 

Go  !  ask  where  Athens  lifts  her  crumbling  head, 
Where  glory,  grandeur  sleep  in  ruin's  bed ; 
Go!  ask  the  ruins  of  old  Rome  to  tell, 
Where  Caesar  sleeps,  and  where  her  heroes  fell.*' 

The  results  of  war  are  extremely  disastrous.  By  it  the  most 
populous  and  fertile  provinces  are  depopulated,  and  overspread 
with  the  ruins  of  cities  and  villages.  Public  buildings,  the  costly 
monuments  of  art  are  fired,  and  are  soon  seen  in  one  continued 
blaze. 


GENIUS  OF  TEMPERANCE.  47 

Great  Moscow's  ancient  towers  are  now  no  more, — 
Her  gorgeous  temples  with  their  lofty  spires, 
Are  sunk,  and  buried,  in  ten  thousand  fires. 

Poverty,  also,  in  her  most  direful  forms,  stalks  abroad.  Fa 
mine  rages.  Empires  and  kingdoms,  shattered  and  convulsed  to 
their  centres,  either  die,  or  live  only,  as  unhappy  Poland,  in  song. 
Behold,  too,  avarice,  meanness,  and  treachery  triumphant;  bene 
volence,  virtue,  and  excellence  trampled  under  foot;  internal 
happiness  destroyed;  ties  of  families  broken;  advance  of  manu 
factures  completely  stopped  ;  security  of  property  and  life,  preca 
rious.  All  which,  proclaim  justice  violated,  and  harmony  bro 
ken  in  the  civilized  world. 

Having  thus  attempted  to  draw  a  representation  of  war,  and 
its  evils,  let  us  rejoice  that  the  days  of  sorrow  and  the  din  of  bat 
tle  have  passed  over  this  our  happy  land.  Let  us  rejoice  that 
the  days  are  nigh  at  hand,  when  the  confused  noise  of  the  battle 
of  the  warrior  shall  be  heard  no  more;  nor  garments  any  more 
be  rolled  in  blood.  Let  us  be  thankful  for  peace  and  its  accom 
panying  blessings,  little  prized  now  that  they  are  had  in  posses 
sion;  highly  valued,  the  moment  they  begin  their  flight;  bitterly 
regretted,  when  once  they  are  gone,  and  can  be  seen  no  more. 


DISSERTATION  XXXIX. 

GENIUS     OF     TEMPERANCE. 

I  see  a  stranger  form  before  me,  young  and  beautiful,  in  whose 
hand  is  a  parchment  scroll ;  the  pledge  of  temperance.  Above 
her  head  there  is  written  the  inscription, — "  In  my  right  hand  is 
length  of  days,  in  my  left,  riches  and  honour."  Behind,  in  the 
distance,  stands  another  figure,  unsightly  and  bloated.  In  her 
hand,  is  a  cup  wreathed  with  flowers.  But  below,  methought  I 
saw  written  these  lines : 

"  Amid  the  flowers  that  wreath  the  sparkling  bowl, 
Fell  adders  hiss,  and  poisonous  serpents  roll.'? 

Truly  may  the  advocates  of  temperance  exclaim,  with  the  ser 
vant  of  old, — "  Master,  there  is  death  in  the  cup."  Go  ask  the 
dark  sepulchral  hills,  why  they  so  heave  with  dead.  Does  not  a 


48  GENIUS  OF  TEMPERANCE. 

sepulchral  voice  answer, l  There  was  death  in  the  cup.'  'Tis  this 
makes  the  madman.  ?Tis  this  lays  low  the  hoary  head,  and 
makes  the  orator  tremble.  'Tis  this  palsies  the  hand  of  the 
mighty  warrior,  and  hurls  from  his  throne  the  haughty  king. 
This,  in  fine,  fires  cities,  lays  waste  empires,  ruins  kingdoms,  de 
vastates  the  world. 

A  few  years  antecedent  to  the  present,  the  temperance  enter 
prise  was  represented  by  the  opposers  of  it  as  the  visionary  and 
ideal  fancy  of  enthusiasm,  as  never  likely  to  accomplish  the  end, 
or  reward  the  exertions  of  its  benevolent  projectors.  Such 
thoughts  however  relative  to  the  cause,  have  fled,  and  the  highest 
expectations  are  becoming  fully  realized.  Public  approbation  is 
commanded,  and  the  temperance  enterprise  is  attaining  an  ap 
pearance  of  magnitude.  The  temperance  cause  is  truly  noble, 
Christian  and  divine;  calculated  not  only  to  give  glory  to  God, 
but  also  produce  happiness  and  good-will  among  men.  Who 
would  not  then  assist  in  impelling  onward  the  mighty  work? 
Let  none  stand  back.  For  who  knows  but  it  may  be  our  lot,  if 
careless  in  this  matter,  to  say  as  the  servants  of  old,  " There  is 
death  in  the  cup."  Death  rides  his  pale  horse  no  where  so  fre 
quently,  as  amid  the  assemblies  of  those  who  indulge  in  wine. 
Many  have  come  out  of  the  forbidden  path;  for  they  have  indeed 
heard  the  spectral  voice  exclaiming;  "Behold!  I'll  meet  thee 
there." 

Wherever  the  Genius  of  Temperance  comes,  lo!  Beggary 
hides  her  head,  and  Cruelty  likewise  does  the  same. 

Unparalleled  efforts  are  now  making  for  its  universal  diffusion. 
Let  us  hail,  then,  not  only  by  our  words,  but  by  our  actions,  the 
speedy  approach  of  the  Temperance  Millenium.  The  political 
has  begun.  The  ecclesiastical,  too,  shall  see  its  consummation, 
and  Temperance,  hers.  As  well  may  we  attempt  arresting  the 
sun  in  his  mid-day  course,  as  think  to  stop  the  temperance  cause. 
Already  may  you  hear  the  noise  of  a  great  multitude,  as  the  voice 
of  many  waters,  saying,  Rejoice  !  for  temperance  has  triumphed. 


WHAT  IS  FIRE  ?  49 

• 

DISSERTATION  XXXIX. 

WHAT    IS    FIRE? 

Fire  was  supposed  by  ancient  philosophers,  to  be  an  elemen 
tary  substance.  They  had  four  elements — fire,  air,  earth,  and 
water.  Modern  experiments  evince  the  fact  of  the  three  latter 
not  being  among  the  upward  of  fifty  justly  called  simple,  uncom- 
pounded,  elementary  substances.  The  nature  of  fire  is  but  little 
understood.  We  know,  however,  by  sad  experience,  its  awful 
effects.  And  philosophy  informs  us,  that  the  rapid  combination 
of  oxygen,  or  the  principle  of  heat,  with  combustible  materials, 
elicits  its  presence. 

The  essence  of  all  substances  is  unknown.  Some  of  their  dis 
tinctive  qualities,  however,  may  come  under  the  cognizance  of 
our  senses.  Savage  man  considers  fire  a  deity.  The  Persian 
magi  adored  fire,  and  made  prayerful  adoration  to  their  god,  the 
sun.  To  him  the  fire-worshippers  erected  high  altars,  and  most 
magnificent  temples.  The  heathen  Prometheus  is  said  to  have 
stolen  fire  from  the  chariot  of  the  orb  of  day — and  therewith  to 
have  bestowed  vitality  upon  his  man  of  clay.  So  says  fable, 
which  seems  but  the  metamorphosis  of  the  account  existent 
long  before  in  the  laws  of  Moses. 

Fire,  heat  and  light,  are  modified  forms  of  one  another.  Fire 
is  the  most  powerful  in  its  effects — a  good  servant,  but  a  bad  mas 
ter.  When  it  has  the  mastery,  it  is  called,  very  appropriately, 
the  raging  element.  How  awfully  destructive  it  is,  appears  by 
the  conflagration  of  great  cities.  The  fires  of  London — Moscow 
— New  York — Pittsburgh — bear  witness  to  its  unbridled  ferocity. 

By  its  powerful  agency,  the  God  of  nature  has  told  us,  he  pur 
poses  destroying  our  sinful  world.  "  The  world  which  then  was, 
being  overflowed  with  water,  perished — but  the  heavens  and 
earth  which  are  now,  by  the  same  word  are  kept  in  store,  re 
served  unto  fire  against  the  day  of  judgment — in  which  the  hea 
vens  shall  pass  away  with  a  great  noise,  and  the  elements  shall 
melt,  with  fervent  heat;  the  earth,  also,  and  the  works  that  are 
therein,  shall  be  burnt  up."  The  words  here  rendered  great 
noise,  have  a  stronger  meaning  in  the  original  Greek — a  whizzing 
4 


50  WHAT  IS  OUR  WORLD  ? 

noise  comes  up  to  the  idea — intimating  that  the  awful  explosion 
may  have  the  effect  of  driving  our  planet  into  a  new  and  sinless 
orbit. 

How  the  Ruler  of  nature  shall  create  fire  sufficiently  strong 
to  accomplish  this  object,is  not  revealed  with  the  fact  itself.-  How 
did  He  create  waters  great  enough  to  drown  the  old  world  ?  He 
can  work  with  or  without  secondary  causes.  Secondary  causes, 
however,  are  generally  the  ministers  to  perform  his  will.  Fire 
is  his  minister ;  and  storm  and  tempest  fulfil  his  pleasure.  Were 
the  central  fires  of  our  globe  to  burst  out  with  all  their  fury,  they 
can  do  his  will.  They  now  disgorge  at  three  hundred  vents,  and 
thereby  subserve  the  place  of  safety  valves  to  our  planet.  We 
seem,  indeed,  placed  upon  a  great  volcano,  which  needs  but  the 
omnific  Word  to  cause  it  to  explode  and  destroy  us.  And  were 
he  to  separate  the  constituent  principles  of  our  atmosphere — re 
moving  the  nitrogen,  and  leaving  the  oxygen,  this  could  easily 
effectuate  this  object. 

The  principle  of  fire  is  existent  in  a  latent  or  free  state  every 
where — and  in  all  substances.  Friction  or  collision,  can  easily 
elicit  the  same.  The  waters  contain  it,  and  they,  too,  give  it 
out.  Without  it  there  could  be  no  life — without  it  no  vegeta 
tion. 

How  useful  therefore  is  it,  when  kept  within  its  proper  bounds! 
How  beneficial  to  universal  nature  ! 


DISSERTATION  XL. 

WHAT     IS    OUR     WORLD? 

Our  world,  comparatively  speaking,  is  but  a  little  islet  floating 
on  the  vast  ocean  of  vacancy — so  insignificant,  thatwere  rt  stricken 
out  of  the  map  of  Jehovah's  vast  empire — the  loss  would  be  felt 
far  less,  than  that  of  a  drop  of  water,  taken  out  of  the  mighty  ocean, 
or  than  that  of  a  grain  of  sand  from  the  sea-shore.  The  world  on 
which  we  live,  has  a  definite  position  in  the  vast  expanse,  how 
ever,  being  the  third  planet  of  our  system,  whose  centre  is  the 
sun. 


WHAT   IS    OUR  WORLD?  51 

Unvveariedly  she  rolls  upon  her  present  sinful  circle,  and  from 
day  to  day  shall,  until  He  come,  at  whose  feet  the  universe  gives 
way.  Her  times  and  seasons  to  man  shall  then  be  no  more — for 
a  deluge  of  fire,  having  purified  her  surface,  she  must  pass  off  in 
to  another,  but  sinless  orbit.  This  being  the  case — the  heavens 
which  are  now,  will  appear  to  pass  away  with  a  great  noise,  and 
all  the  elements  seem  to  have  been  melted  by  the  fervent  heat. 
Thus  to  an  observer,  the  heavens  shall  appear  to  be  rolled  to 
gether  as  a  mighty  scrolls-while  actually  no  change,  save  rela 
tive,  shall  have  taken  place  upon  the  other  stars  of  heaven. 

To  the  vulgar  eye,  our  earth  seems  motionless,  whereas,  she 
has,  positively  two  motions,  and  perhaps  a  third  about  some  great 
central  body,  the  primum  mobile  of  all.  She  moves  in  her  orbit 
round  the  sun,  at  the  rate  of  twenty  miles  each  second  of  time — 
and  performs  her  revolution  round  her  axis  every  day. 

Rise  but  a  mile  or  two  above  the  surface,  and  you  behold  her 
seemingly  at  rest.  Rise  a  few  miles  higher,  and  you  may  see 
her  careering  on,  in  her  constant  track,  directed  by  His  unerring 
hand,  "  who  sitteth  upon  the  circle  of  the  earth,  and  to  whom  its 
inhabitants  appear  but  as  grasshoppers."  When  the  heavens  and 
the  earth  were  finished,  God  saw  every  thing,  and  behold  it  was 
very  good.  There  was  no  disorder  before  its  introduction  by  sin. 
Our  world  came  forth  from  its  Maker's  hands,  a  beautifully  fur 
nished  habitation  for  man.  He  sinned — "  and  nature  through  all 
her  lower  works  gave  signs  of  wo,  that  all  was  lost." 

How  inconsiderable  is  our  little  planet !  Yet,  how  marked  is 
her  position  on  the  great  map  of  the  Almighty's  empire  !  She 
has  a  moral" reference.  Towards  her  the  inhabitants  of  countless 
globes  direct  their  inquiring  eye.  Sin  made  her  woful  visit 
here — and  here  was  the  Son  of  the  Blessed  crucified.  As  the 
scene  of  the  drama  of  redemption,  she  is  therefore  noted.  And 
to  her,  though  sinful,  her  Creator  has  paid  more  than  especial  re 
gard.  She  is  the  workmanship  of  His  hands,  and  was  once  fair? 
so  that  the  morning  stars  sang  together,  and  the  sons  of  God 
shouted  for  joy,  when  they  beheld  the  laying  of  her  strong  foun 
dations.  How  manifold  are  God's  works  !  in  uncreated  wisdom 
hath  He  made  them  all !  Earth,  too,  is  full  of  the  riches  of  his 
goodness. 


52  THE   ORB  OF  DAY. 


DISSERTATION  XLI. 

THE    ORB    OF    DAY. 

The  sun  is  the  orb  of  day.  It  is  the  primum  mobile  of  our  so 
lar  system — the  great  centre  of  light,  heat,  and  attraction  to  the 
twelve  primary,  and  eighteen  secondary  planets,  which  revolve 
around  it.  To  the  philosophic  mind  its  nature  is  yet  in  some 
measure  a  mystery.  Several  theories  having  been  from  time  to 
time  advanced,  and  all  seemingly  plausible — yet  needing  farther 
demonstration  to  render  their  propositions  sound  matters  of  fact. 

A  Newton  supposed  our  Sun  to  be  a  burning  body  or  world  of 
fire — furnished  with  combustibles  by  the  vast  number  of  comets 
continually  falling  into  it.  A  Herschell  imagined  it,  to  be 
enveloped  by  dense  luminous  clouds — which,  as  they  separate, 
allow  us  to  behold  portions  of  the  dark  body  of  the  orb  itself. 
Others  ascribe  the  sun's  light  to  the  effect  of  mighty  galvanic 
operations..  And  last,  some  attribute  light  to  the  undulations  of 
ether,  as  sound  to  the  undulations  of  air.  Millions 'of  millions  of 
these  waves  propelled  in  continuity,  act  one  way  upon  the  retina 
of  the  eye,  and  form  the  red  ray — as  they  are  more  or  less  nu 
merous,  they  bring  into  view  one  or  all  of  the  seven  primi 
tive  colours,  which  united  constitute  white  light.  The  light  by 
some,  then,  is  the  result  of  emanation — particles  of  the  matter 
thereof — imponderable  particles,  impinging  upon  the  delicate  op 
tic  nerve  of  the  curiously  contrived  organ  of  vision. 

Light,  in  the  picturesque  language  of  Hebrew,  is  so  named  from 
a  word  signifying  to  flow.  The  sun  rises,  and  a  tide  of  light 
flows.  Then  begins  the  bustle  of  the  day — the  noisy  day.  The 
sun  appears  to  rise,  and  appears  to  set.  This  delusion  is  caused 
by  the  revolution  of  our  planet  about  its  axis  every  twenty-four 
hours.  The  sun,  however,  doubtless  has  its  own  proper  motions. 
It  is  but  one  of  the  many — say  one  hundred  millions  of  bodies  of 
a  similar  character — bodies  acting  also  as  centres  of  larger  and 
analogous  systems,  forming  one  grand  and  harmonious  whole,  the 
empire  of  God.  Who  can  number  the  millions  of  clusters  of 
suns  which  populate  immensity  ? 

"  Great,  glorious  the  day,  when  the  Author  of  all. 
Spake  the  stars  out  of  naught,  and  they  came  at  his  call, 
Through  the  regions  of  space,  from  his  hand  they  were  hurled — 
Dark  myriads  of  atoms,  each  atom  a  world. 


THE  ORB  OF  NIGHT.  53 

When  each  sped  to  his  point  in  the  boundless  expanse. 
And  took  his  first  light,  from  the  light  of  his  glance — 
His  power  in  one  moment,  fix'd  each  in  his  spot, 
One  moment  remitted,  they  sink  and  are  not." 

God  rendered  the  two  great  lights  of  our  system  visible  on  the 
fourth  day  of  creation.  On  the  first  day  there  was  light.  This, 
however,  may  be  supposed  to  have  been  hidden  from  an  observer, 
had  he  been  situated  on  the  surface  of  our  globe.  On  the  fourth 
day  God  gives  command,  and  the  dense  vapours  disappear.  The 
sun,  as  if  just  created,  rides  forth  in  his  majesty,  the  king  of  day, 
and  thenceforward  rising  in  the  greatness  of  his  strength  runs  his 
race,  and  renders  man  and  nature  glad.  May  we  work  while  it 
is  called  to-day.  For  who  knows  whether  or  not  he  shall  behold 
another  sun  rise  or  another  set. 


DISSERTATION  XLII. 

THE    ORB    OF    NIGHT. 

How  beautiful  is  that  luminary,  which  in  the  night  season  sheds 
on  us,  so  generously  her  silvery  rays  !  She  appears  as  empress  of 
the  night,  and  queen  ruler  of  the  golden  stars.  God  set  the  moon 
in  heaven,  thereby  to  make  known  the  seasons.  Her  revolution 
measures  to  man  a  month  of  duration. 

She  acts  as  sovereign  over  the  world  of  waters,  ruling  the  tides, 
and  causing  the  reciprocal  returns  of  ebb  and  flow.  Her  attrac 
tive  power,  is  much  greater  than  that  of  the  sun,  by  reason  of  her 
so  much  greater  proximity  to  us.  The  moon  is  not  self-luminous. 
Her  light  is  derived  from  that  fountain,  the  sun.  By  reason  of 
her  nearness,  man  by  his  telescopic  observations  is  enabled  to  tell 
some  little  of  her  nature.  Upon  her  surface,  operations  similar  to 
those  taking  place  here,  are  seemingly  going  on  in  her.  The  dark 
portions  are  conjectured  to  be  depressions  or  land-^-while  the 
brighter  portions  are  imagined  to  be  water.  Volcanoes  are  there, 
seemingly  disgorging  their  fiery  substances,  carrying  destruction 
in  all  directions  around  them.  So  much  we  do  know  of  the  na 
ture  of  the  body  nearest  to  us. 

How  little  therefore  do  we  know !     And  this  little  no  more 


54  TIME. 

than  mere  conjecture.     Her  distance,  however,  by  means  of  a 
geometrical  calculation,  we  know  to  a  certainty. 

Her  periods  are  accurately  determined,  and  her  eclipses  pre 
dicted  thousands  of  years  before  they  occur.  So  far  would  science 
lead  us.  So  far  would  she  make  known  to  us  this  fair  border  of 
the  nocturnal  heavens.  Then  let  us  straight  towards  heaven  di 
rect  our  eyes — and  "gaze  awhile  on  the  ample  sky."  And  when 
we  behold  the  sun  rising  to  run  his  race — and  when  we  see  the 
moon  walking  in  her  brightness,  let  us  give  our  adoration  to  Him 
who  made  both  sun  and  moon,  and  spreadeth  out  the  heavens 
like  a  tent  to  dwell  in. 


DISSERTATION  XLIII. 


TIME. 


Time  is  a  word  which,  relatively  considered,  has  a  diversity  of 
import.  Time  as  applied  to  things  here,  means  the  duration  of 
their  existence.  Every  living  thing  shall  live  its  time.  Man's 
time  is  short.  To-day  he  is,  and  to-morrow  seek  him,  and  lo  !  the 
clods  of  the  valley  cover  him.  Our  world,  too,  has  her  time. 
Time  here  began  with  those  things  measured  by  it.  What,  there 
fore,  is  it  ? 

A  bubble  on  the  ocean  of  unsuccessive  duration  or  eternity. 
It  breaks,  and  is  lost  amid  the  constant  current  of  endless  ages. 
It  is  a  point  in  eternity.  And  what  is  a  point?  A  point  has 
position,  but  not  magnitude.  Time  therefore  is  naught  but  a 
"  meteor's  glare."  It  hurries  by,  and  once  gone  is  so  irrecovera 
bly. 

0  Time  !  thy  years  have  nearly  circled  round  ! 
The  tottering  pillars  of  thy  throne  declare  it, 
And  ere  long  a  mightier  shall  proclaim, 
.Time  was — but  time  shall  be  no  more. 

Time  is  precious  to  man.  It  is  the  time  of  living  here — of 
living  well,  or  ill.  Time  lost,  a  treasure  is  lost,  never  more  to  be 
recovered.  To  the  good,  time  is  not  lost — it  but  ends  his  toil 
some  journey — his  exit  to  a  world,  where  the  things  of  time  shall 
be  no  more  known. 


LIGHT.  55 

To  the  wicked  it  is  lost — lost  irrecoverably.  The  sand  of  the 
time  measurer  of  each  man's  life,  is  Vanning  out  fast.  Improve 
it  therefore,  ere  the  voice  proclaim, — 

"Thou fool!  this  night  shall  thy  soul  be  required  at  thy  hands." 
A.  wise  God  has  concealed  from  man  the  hour  of  his  departure 
from  Time  to  eternity.  So,  also,  has  he  hidden  from  him  the  ex 
act  moment  of  our  world's  dissolution. 

"  Prudens  futuri  temporis  exitum, 
Calliginosa  nocte  premit  Deus." 


DISSERTATION  XLIV. 

LIGHT. 

<:  Who  can  tell  where  light  dwellethl 

And  darkness,  where  is  the  place  thereof?" 

Thus  spake  a  venerable  philosopher,  of  the  land  of  Idumea. 
The  dwelling  place  of  the  former,  is  doubtless  around  the  Eter 
nal's  throne.  And  where  there  is  no  light,  there  darkness  has 
her  habitation. 

0  Lord!  thou  clothest  thyself  with  light,  as  with  a  garment, 
and  with  thee  there  is  no  darkness  at  all.  Truly  the  light  is 
sweet,  says  Solomon,  and  it  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  see  the  sun. 
The  sun  is  the  instrument  for  giving  light  to  the  planets  of  our 
system.  On  the  first  day  of  the  material  creation,  God  said,  "  Let 
there  be  light — and  there  was  light." 

From  that  fountain  of  ever  living  light,  which  ever  encom 
passed  his  throne,  he  called  it — and  it  came — pouriing  itself  in 
to  the  orb  of  day — and  thence  shedding  its  rays  upon  the  faces  of 
the  twelve  primary  and  eighteen  secondary  planets;  which  latter 
again  shed  their  borrowed  rays  upon  the  primaries,  round  which, 
as  moons,  they  revolve.  "  Who  can  tell  how  the  light  is  parted?" 
A  modern  English  philosopher  has  proved  the  fact  that  it  is  parted 
xnto  seven  primitive  rays — the  reunion  of  which  seven  colours, 
again  forms  white  light.  In  the  rainbow,  we  may  perceive  all 
the  prismatic  hues — red — orange — yellow — green — blue — indigo 
— and  violet.  Light,  if  emanated,  flows  at  the  rate  of  one  hundred 


56  WATER. 

and  ninety-two  thousand  miles  per  second  of  time.  This  we 
know  by  the  observations  relative  to  eclipses  of  Jupiter's  four 
satellites. 

How  cheerful  is  light!  The  sun  rising  makes  all  nature  glad. 
The  little  birds  sing  rejoicingly  at  his  fond  approach.  So  re- 
joiceth  my  soul  at  the  approach  of  the  Sun  of  righteousness.  At 
his  omnific  word  darkness  fled  from  the  face  of  the  mighty  deep. 
Who  can  live  when  he  hides  his  life-giving  countenance  ? 


DISSERTATION  XLV. 

WATER. 

The  natural  and  most  healthful  beverage  for  man  is  the  pure 
water  of  the  crystal  stream.  It  is,  like  fire,  improperly  termed 
an  elementary  substance.  Modern  experiments  prove  it  to 
be  composed  of  two  gases — oxygen  and  hydrogen.  These 
united  in  definite  proportions,  by  means  of  the  electric  spark,  in 
variably  produce  water.  It  enters  in  some  quantity,  into  all  other 
bodies.  The  air  has  its  proportion  of  it,  when  wet,  and  also  a 
less  proportion  when  seemingly  dry.  The  earth  is  more  or  less 
saturated  with  the  same,  as  it  falls  and  sinks  into  its  porous  sur 
face. 

The  ocean,  however,  is  the  grand  receptacle  or  reservoir  for 
the  water.  On  the  second  day  of  creation,  the  God  of  nature  sepa 
rated  the  waters  from  the  earth — the  rocky  mountains  rose  up,  and 
the  deep  bed  of  ocean  was  formed.  "  Thou  coveredst  the  earth 
with  the  deep,  as  with  a  garment — the  waters  stood  above  the  hills 
—at  thy  rebuke  they  fled;  at  the  voice  of  thy  thunder  they  hasted 
away." 

By  some  it  is  imagined  that  there  exist  fountains  of  water,  and 
not  fire,  in  our  world's  central  abysses,  or  caverns.  The  fountains 
of  the  great  deep,  it  is  said,  were  broken  up.  If  so,  there  is  but 
a  shell  of  earth,  spread  over  a  vast  abyss  of  water.  "God  hath 
established  earth  upon  the  floods,  laying  the  beams  of  his  cham 
bers  in  the  waters." 

As  without  fire,  so  without  water  there  can  be  no  vitality. 
The  functions  of  the  animal  and  vegetable  kingdoms,  cannot  be 


THE  ATMOSPHERE.  57 

discharged  without  their  agency.  The  sap  or  nourishment  of 
vegetables  demands  a  due  proportion  of  water.  The  heat  of  fire 
causes  the  same  to  commence  its  rise  in  the  stem  of  plants.  The 
air  also,  by  its  pressure  is  an  assistant  in  this  work  of  nature. 
How  useful  is  water  in  ten  thousand  instances!  The  beasts  of  the 
forest  must  drink — and  do  drink  their  fill.  The  hart  panteth 
for  the  brook  of  water.  Traverse  the  sandy  deserts,  and  there 
you  shall  learn  the  value  of  the  crystal  stream.  How  awful 
there  is  the  thirst ! 

While,  therefore,  reflecting  upon  the  many  necessary  uses  of 
the  water,  so  generously  bestowed  upon  us,  let  us  thirst  after 
those  rivers  of  pleasure,  which  are  at  God's  right  hand.  How  re 
freshing  are  those  streams,  already  so  delightful  in  the  distant 
prospect ! 


DISSERTATION  XLVI. 

THE    ATMOSPHERE. 

Our  globe  is  encompassed  by  an  elastic  fluid,  called  the  atmo 
sphere  or  air.  It  was  judged  by  the  ancients  to  be  also  an  ele 
mentary  substance.  Its  constituents  are  oxygen  and  nitrogen. 
The  supposed  height  of  it  is  forty-five  miles.  The  strata  of  air 
near  the  surface  of  the  earth,  are  of  consequence  more  dense.  The 
air  was  the  second  result  of  the  omnific  Word.  The  air  was 
evolved  from  chaos  on  the  second  day  of  creation  work.  God 
said, — "Let  there  be  a  firmament  in  the  midst  of  the  waters."  Be 
fore  the  formation  of  air,  there  could  be  no  azure  sky.  The  air  in 
a  mass  appears  blue.  It  is  this  that  reflects  to  our  organ  of  vision, 
the  cerulean  hue.  In  small  quantity  the  air  is  seemingly  colour 
less—but  when  presented  to  our  sight  in  quantity,  we  perceive 
it  of  a  lighter  or  darker  blue.  Without  air  our  world  would  be 
void  of  inhabitants  —it  would  return  to  its  primitive  state,  when 
darkness  was  upon  the  face  of  the  mighty  deep. 

Without  it  there  could  be  no  respiration — beast,  bird  and  man 
must  die.  It  is  this  that  keeps  in  action  the  noble  machinery  of 
the  heart.  "  God  breathed  into  man's  nostrils  the  breath  of  life." 

By  its  hydraulic  pressure,  the  sap  of  the  green  things  of  the 


58  MISSIONS   DIVINE. 

vegetable  creation,  rises  to  vivify  and  enliven  the  same.  By 
means  of  it,  the  moisture  raised  by  evaporation  from  ocean's  bed, 
is  wafted  to  every  quarter  of  our  globe. 

Wind  is  air  put  in  motion,  and  this  is  the  instrument  of  con 
veyance  to  every  clime,  and  every  shore — so  that  it  may  for  wise 
ends  rain  even  in  the  desert  where  no  man  is— so  that  there  may 
fall  both  the  small  rain,  and  the  great  rain  of  the  Almighty's 
strength.  This  also  fills  the  sails  of  the  white-winged  vessels, 
which  now  cover  every  sea,  and  pass  and  repass  by  its  agency, 
like  things  of  life.  Take  away  the  air,  and  ocean  too  must  die, 
and  fleets  cease  to  sweep  over  his  glassy  surface.  Without  air 
there  could  be  no  pleasing  twilight,  without  it  the  heavens  would 
be  shrouded  in  blackness.  "What  is  man,  whose  breath  is  in  his 
nostrils,  for  wherein  is  he  to  be  accounted  of?" 


DISSERTATION  XLVII! 

MISSIONS     DIVINE. 

Missions  for  the  propagation  of  Christianity  can  be  regarded 
no  longer  as  doubtful  experiments.  We  consider  the  spirit  of 
them  as  truly  noble,  Christian  and  divine,  as  calculated  not  only 
to  give  glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  but  also  on  earth  to  proclaim 
peace  and  good-will  towards  our  fellow-men.  He  alone  has  truly 
imbibed  the  spirit  of  Christianity,  who  makes  it  his  aim  to  give 
it  to  the  world.  The  Author  of  our  religion  never  designed  to 
confine  salvation  to  us  alone.  He  purposed  to  speak  peace  to  the 
heathen  also.  His  kingdom  is  founded  in  righteousness,  and  was 
intended  to  comprise  a  great  multitude,  gathered  from  out  of  all 
nations.  It  is  the  diffusion  of  the  gospel  of  peace,  which  can  ef 
fect  this  object.  It  is  its  voice  alone,  which  can,  by  the  blessing 
of  God,  change  the  moral  face  of  the  world,  and  fit  the  heathen 
nations  for  the  service  of  heaven.  Its  efficacy  is  mighty  as  the 
means  of  improving  the  present  condition  of  man.  Wherever  it 
is  sent,  Polytheism  and  Idolatry,  and  all  cruelties  hide  their  face. 
The  Almighty,  without  whose  aid  the  greatest  efforts  would  be 
ineffectual,  has  condescended  to  stretch  forth  his  arm,  and  now 


MISSIONS   DIVINE.  59 

not  by  might,  nor  by  power,  but  by  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  of 
Hosts,  shall  nation  after  nation  become  converted,  until  the 
knowledge  of  the  Lord  cover  the  earth,  as  the  waters  cover  the 
sea. 

The  light  of  nature  is  insufficient,  as  a  guide  to  direct  the  hea 
then.  "Where  there  is  no  vision,  the  people  perish/3  It  will 
be  admitted  by  every  thinking  mind,  that  the  theology  of  na 
ture  sheds  powerful  light  upon  the  being  of  a  God.  And  that 
even  from  its  unaided  demonstrations,  he  can  reach  a  considerable 
degree  of  probability,  both  as  to  his  moral  and  natural  attributes. 
Yet  should  it  be  undertaken,  to  deduce  from  it  the  question  be 
tween  God  and  man,  this  would  be  found  utterly  impracticable. 
'Tis  here  the  helplessness  of  nature  lies.  The  obscurity,  the 
darkness,  as  regards  the  hopes  and  destinies  of  man,  it  cannot  dis 
pel.  It  is  true,  there  is  enough  therein  to  awaken  fears  of  guilt, 
but  it  cannot  allay  them.  It  may  emit — yea,  nature  through  all 
her  works,  most  audibly  emits  a  note  of  terror  to  the  guilty  soul. 
But  in  vain  shall  one  word  of  consolation  be  sought  for  from  any 
of  its  oracles.  It  may  prompt  the  question,  How  shall  I  obtain 
eternal  life?  But  of  itself  it  can  return  no  answer.  This  is  not 
the  creation  of  enthusiastic  fancy.  The  fact  is  written  with  the 
sufferer's^  tear.  The  cry  is  now  reverberating  upon  our  ears, — 
0  Christians!  come  over  and  help  us! 

"Salvation!  oh!  Salvation! 

The  joyful  sound  proclaim, 
Till  each  remotest  nation, 
Has  learnt  Messiah's  name." 

There  is  now  a  manifest  prospect  of  the  growing  increase  of 
Christianity.  Let  us  hail,  then,  not  only  by  our  words,  but  by 
our  actions  the  speedy  approach  of  the  millennial  glory.  Behold ! 
it  is  just  appearing.  The  long  night  of  paganism  is  just  passing 
away;  the  first  streaks  of  the  approach  of  the  Sun  of  Righteous 
ness  already  paint  the  distant  horizon — the  shades  of  pagan  dark 
ness  are  fast  receding — and  the  people  afar  are  beginning  to  see 
the  joyful  light,  and  rejoice  in  its  glory. 


60  MAN  A  FREE  AGENT. 


DISSERTATION  XLVIII. 

MAN    A    FREE     AGENT. 

Man  in  his  secular  affairs,  would  seem  to  be  free — is  it  so 
also  in  spiritual  matters?  He  moves  about  seemingly  at  his  plea 
sure,  does  he  move  also,  to  or  away  from  holiness  as  his  own 
mind  bids  him  ?  Man,  you  say,  is  a  free  agent.  How  is  he  free? 
Are  there  no  restraints  upon  his  freedom  of  will  and  act?  Many. 
God  hath  determined  the  bounds  of  our  habitation  that  we 
cannot  pass.  He  has  allotted  to  every  man  his  position  in  the 
world,  whether  high  or  low.  He  putteth  down  one  and  setteth 
up  another.  Yet  man  is  not  a  mere  machine.  He  has  a  will 
given  him  by  his  Creator,  and  that  will  is  governed  by  motives. 
We  live  in  a  world,  where  every  act  seems  to  be  the  result  of 
some  motive.  What  was  the  motive,  determining  to  the  act? 
.Was  it  good  or  bad? 

The  will  of  man  cannot  determine  itself.  It  cannot  be  both 
cause  and  affect.  The  most  agreeable  motive — or  the  most  pow 
erful,  determines  it  to  action.  But  ah!  man  has  by  his  fall  lost 
his  ability  to  will  good.  In  his  state  of  nature,  he  is  bent  to  evil 
continually.  His  will,  however,  is  free — free  only  to  Qvil.  To 
the  natural  mind,  celestial  motives  are  not  agreeable,  and  of  con 
sequence  no  determiners  to  action.  If  so,  then  the  natural  man 
moves  not  to  holiness.  How  impotent  then  is  unregenerate  man! 
His  will  is  free  to  sin.  Whence  comes  the  mighty  change  in 
man  ?  He  is  created  anew.  The  moment  he  is  regenerated — 
which  act  is  instantaneous — he  is  set  at  liberty.  He  is  now  free 
to  good.  The  man  now  can  no  more  habitually  commit  sin. 
He  bears  again  the  image  of  the  heavenly — the  likeness  of  his 
parent  God.  This  is  the  result  of  the  implantation  of  a  principle 
of  life.  In  regeneration  man  is  passive — in  conversion,  he  is 
seemingly  active.  Yet  he  does  not  convert  himself.  He  seems, 
however,  to  put  forth  his  own  voluntary  acts  of  faith.  Faith  im 
planted  in  the  morning  of  regeneration,  is  that  scarcely  discerni 
ble  grain,  which  grows  up  into  the  mighty  tree. 

"  Faith  builds  a  bridge  across  the  gulf  of  death. 
'Tis  this  disarms  destruction." 

Blessed  is  he  whom  Christ  makes  free,  for  he  shall  also  enter 
in  within  the  gates  into  the  Holy  City. 


THE   PLAN   OF   WISDOM    UNFOLDS.  61 


DISSERTATION   XLIX. 

THE     PLAN     OF     WISDOM     UNFOLDS. 

As  in  the  creation  and  government  of  the  material  universe,  so 
also  in  the  moral  universe,  we  perceive  the  order  of  beginning, 
progress  and  consummation.  The  sublime  mystery  of  man's  re 
demption,  makes  its  appearance  on  the  first  page  of  Divine  In 
spiration;  and  thence,  moves  forward  through  the  ages  of  more 
than  four  thousand  years,  garnishing  the  pages  of  the  book  of 
God  with  gradually  increasing  brightness  from  Genesis  to  Reve 
lation.  First,  like  a  solitary  star,  in  the  distant  east,  it  rises  a 
harbinger  of  day.  Next  a  few  sprinklings  of  celestial  light,  kin 
dle  along  the  edge  of  the  horizon,  and  gradually  stream  up  the 
skies.  Then  the  Sun  himself  begins  to  look  forth  upon  the 
world,  although  not  yet  in  the  greatness  of  his  strength.  First, 
there  is  the  promise,  that  Messiah  should  bruise  the  Serpent's 
head — and  thenceforward,  the  plan  of  wisdom  gradually  unfolds 
— in  the  accepted  offering  of  righteous  Abel — in  the  covenant 
made  with  faithful  Abraham — then  in  the  smoking  altars  of  Is 
rael,  types  of  a  coming  and  more  excellent  sacrifice.  Thus  the 
consummation  hastens  on,  till  the  last  prediction  of  the  ancient 
oracles  declares — that  the  Sun  of  righteousness  is  about  to  arise, 
with  healing  in  his  beams.  The  fulness  of  time  at  length  arrived, 
when  Daniel's  seventy  weeks  were  about  to  expire,  and  lo !  on  the 
plains  of  Palestine — a  heavenly  choir  is  heard  to  sing,  there  is 
now  "  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  on  earth  peace,  and  good  will 
towards  men."  At  this  best  adapted  season,  Messiah  came;  and 
having  accomplished  the  work  of  his  assumed  humanity,  dies, 
and  ascends  to  his  primeval  glory.  Then  was  fulfilled  the  pre 
diction  of  the  prophet  relative  to  the  gentile  world, — "Arise! 
shine!  for  thy  light  is  come." 

The  great  wall  of  partition  is  now  broken  down,  and  Jew  and 
Gentile,  laying  aside  their  former  enmities,  become  one  church — 
with  Christ  as  its  head.  This  he  accomplished,  when  suspended 
upon  the  cross,  he  exclaimed — "It  is  finished" — bowed  his  head 
and  died.  The  plan  of  wisdom  thus  unfolds,  till  the  coming  of 
Him  the  Prince  of  Peace. 


62  UTILITY    OF    COLLEGIATE    EDUCATION. 


DISSERTATION  L. 

UTILITY    OF    COLLEGIATE    EDUCATION, 

As  our  country  is  expected  to  advance  in  her  literary,  as  well 
as  in  her  political  glory,  no  one  of  good  understanding  can  fora 
moment  doubt  the  utility  of  well  regulated  collegiate  institutions. 
Man  should  endeavour  to  increase  in  wisdom,  as  he  increases  in 
stature.  Let  him  possess  knowledge,  and  he  will  soon  see  "cui 
bono."  Knowledge  is  power:  it  is  the  lever,  by  means  of  which 
we  move  the  world  of  mind.  And  leaving  this  scene  of  time, 
writh  all  the  knowledge  man  can  possess,  he  is  scarcely  fitted  for 
admission  into  the  college  of  eternity.  When  he  forsakes  this 
stage  of  earth  for  ever,  he  has  lessons  to  learn  throughout  the  ne 
ver-ending  ages  of  his  future  life.  What  mysteries  are  yet  be 
fore  him  for  deep  investigation!  His  present  life  is  but  a  state 
of  preparation  for  another  and  more  enduring.  So  thought  the 
mighty  Newton,  who,  having  traversed  the  extensive  fields  of 
Science,  could  exclaim — "I  have  gathered  but  a  few  pebbles  upon 
the  sea-shore  of  creation. "  The  same  philosopher  then  sat  down 
to  gather  knowledge  from  the  Book  of  books,  which  tells  of  Him 
who  is  himself  Wisdom,  and  who,  when  but  twelve  years  of  age, 
was  found  by  his  anxious  parents  in  the  apartments  of  the  tem 
ple,  occupied  by  the  learned  doctors,  listening  to,  and  asking 
questions.  Man  is  placed  here  to  fill  a  diversity  of  conditions  in 
life.  There  must  be  lawyers,  doctors,  farmers,  mechanics,  &c. 
No  one,  therefore,  should  speak  ill  of  his  fellow-man  in  whatever 
subordinate  employment  of  life  he  may  be  found.  Every  man 
in  his  sphere,  helps  to  make  up  the  one  harmonious  whole  of 
society,  and  is  as  necessary  to  it,  as  every  drop  of  water  to  the 
mighty  ocean.  Yet,  we  doubt  not,  that  even  the  mechanic 
would  be  more  instrumental  in  doing  good,  were  he  possessed  of  a 
thorough,  scientific  education.  The  very  possession  would  ren 
der  him  more  conscious  of  his  own  worth.  Let  every  youth, 
therefore,  receive  an  extended  education. 

The  question  should  not  be  will  a  Collegiate  education  render 
him  more  able  to  amass  wealth?  It  should  rather  be,  will  it 
render  him  better  able  to  serve  his  Maker?  will  it  benefit  him- 


UTILITY    OF    COLLEGIATE    EDUCATION.  63 

self  and  his  fellow  men?  will  his  enlarged  education  have  a  be 
neficial  effect  upon  the  future  condition  of  man? 

These  questions  have  almost  self-evident  answers.  God  re 
quires  of  man,  intellectually  and  morally,  according  to  his  capa 
city;  what  he  can  know  of  science  and  of  Him,  the  Fountain  of 
it,  he  ought  to  know:  not  to  come  up  to  this  is  indolence  in  man. 
His  knowledge  will  be  of  service  to  him  here — and  this  alone, 
of  all  his  possessions,  can  he  carry  out  with  him.  And  when  he 
stands  upon  the  hills  of  immortality,  he  shall  have  a  more  en 
larged  and  expanded  vision. 

Lo !  there  in  Contemplation's  car, 
He  shall  career  from  star  to  star; 
To  view  the  various  works  of  God. 
By  angels  seen — by  angels  trod." 


CH  RISTI  AD. 


TO 

THE  REV.  GEO.  W.  BETHUNE,  D.  D., 

THE  POLISHED  AND  LEARNED  DIVINE; 

THE   POET,  ORATOR,   AND  SCHOLAR; 


A    DIVINE    EPIC    POEM; 

IS  VERY  AFFECTIONATELY 
DEDICATED 

BY  THE 


AUTHOR. 


Jan,  1,  1846. 


CHR1STIAD, 


CANTO  I. 

ARGUMENT. 

invocation.— Subject.— Messiah,  Prince  of  Peace,  crosses  the  brook  Kedron,  and  enters 
the  garden  of  Gethsemane.— His  agony.— Satan  appears  and  tempts  him. — The  Al 
mighty  Father  commissions  the  Angel  Gabriel,  to  console  his  Son. — Flight  of  the  Angel. 
— His  arrival  at  the  scene  of  Messiah's  agony. — His  consolatory  address  to  his  Lord. — 
He  portrays  the  vision  of  the  Ransomed  Ones. — Picture  of  the  close  of  the  Drama  of 
Redemption. — Jesus  nerved  with  strength,  arouses  his  sleeping  disciples,  and  goes  to 
meet  Judas,  now  approaching  with  a  band  of  men* 


CANTO  I. 


0  Muse!  who  did'st  erevvhile  of  gladness  sing: 

And  did'st  thy  harp  to  joyful  notes  attune ; 

When  earth,  and  heaven,  and  nature  all  were  glad, 

Befriend  me  now,  and  sympathizing  sing, 

Strains  but  the  echoes  of  the  saddest  woes, 

Felt  by  Messiah  suffering.     Invok'd, 

Calliope  thus  sorrowfully  sings. 

Of  God's  redeemed,  the  wish'd  for  year  was  come, 

Fix'd  from  eternity,  come  too  the  hour, 

When  lo!  a  mighty  hero  should  go  forth, 

In  majesty,  to  vanquish  Death  and  Hell ; 

And  to  inscribe  great  victory,  won  by  Him, 

With  his  own  blood,  and  with  his  enemies' — 

That  hour  was  come;  and  over  Kedron's  brook, 

Whose  waters  murmuring  mournfully, 

Along  Jehoshaphat's  dark  valley  ran  ; 

That  brook  significant,  Messiah  pass'd. 

Thence  upward  climbs  the  ascent  of  Olivet, 

Far  as  Gethsemane,  the  frequent  place, 

Erst,  scene  of  his  retiring ;  presently, 

Scene  of  his  sad  and  painful  agony. 

By  all  the  twelve  accompanied,  save  one, 

Iscariot,  on  other  errand  gone ; 

The  garden's  shades  He  enters  solemnly. 

But  nature's  glorious  orb,  whose  way 

Is  through  immensity;  whose  lofty  throne 

Is  in  th'  interminable  blue,  for  aye 

Too,  fixed  immovably,  now  for  the  last  time  sets 


72  CHRISTIAD. 

To  Him  his  great  Creator;  and  all  wan, 

The  chill);  moon,  just  full,  uprising  sheds 

Through  the  dark  clouds,  spreads  o'er  her  ominous 

The  broken  rays  of  her  pale,  mournful  light, 

Foretoken  of  sad  conflict,  to  ensue 

With  Satan,  prince  of  darkness.     All  is  still — 

No  sound,  save  that  the  windy  murmur  makes, 

As  mournfully,  it  steals  through  th'  olive  boughs, 

Much  like  a  harp's  wild  tone ;  or  the  sad  voice 

Of  Kedron's  moonlit  waters  murmuring, 

Yet  faintly  from  below.     And  now  apart 

From  all  save  three,  who  on  Mount  Tabor  saw 

His  bright  transfiguration ;  when  the  voice 

From  out  the  cloud,  serenely  said  ; — "  This  is 

My  own  lov'd  Son,  in  whom  I  am  well  pleas'd ;" 

In  agony  Messiah  prays,  blood  drops 

Thick  rolling  off  Him.     Sorrowfully  too, 

Cries  out  his  soul;  My  God!  if  possible, 

This  cup  let  from  me  pass.     Drink  it  He  must, 

Or  drink  it  Adam's  sons,  and  this  not  possible; 

Yet  if  undrunk,  we  sink  to  lowest  hell. 

The  bloody  cup,  with  vials  of  God's  wrath 

Replete,  humanity  refus'd  to  drink, 

Shrunk  back,  and  shudder'd.     Yet  its  very  dregs, 

God's  Son,  clad  with  humanity  must  drain* 

His  countenance  divine,  the  Father  hides, 

As  in  a  cloud — >while  Justice  stern  her  sword, 

Now  wide  awakens,  'gainst  Jehovah's  fellow  ; 

'Gainst  the  man,  God-man,  who  must  alone, 

Tread  the  red  wine-press  of  almighty  wrath, 

None  of  the  people  with  him.     Prayeth  He, 

In  agony ;  when  lo  !  to  Him  appears 

The  oft  foil'd  Tempter ;  who  from  oft  repulse, 

Grown  desperate,  more  fierce  assault,  essays 

To  vanquish  Him.     But  musing  which  way  best 

To  make  invasion,  watcher-like  he  sat 

A  little  distant.     Soon  he  nigher  creeps, 

Wrapt  in  the  sable  mantle  of  a  mist, 

Screen  for  deformity,  and  felons'  deeds; 

And  thus  'gan  whispering: — Jesus,  Son  of  God, 


CANTO  I.  73 

Unhappy  'bove  all  beings  suffering! 

Thus  sinless,  sufferest  thou  his  wrath  for  sin, 

Who  from  thee  hides  his  face  in  bitter  time 

Of  thine  extremity  ?     How  can  it  be  ? 

Wrath  so  intolerable,  God's  own  Son, 

Should  thus  endure  forsaken  ?     Mercy  gone, 

Affords  he  no  relief,  when  most  thou  need'st  ? 

His  aid  no  longer  wait,  or  if  divine, 

Aid  bring  thyself.     'Tis  sure  divinity 

Can  conquer  wrath,  or  make  it  bearable. 

Thus  spake  th'  arch  Felon,  unobserv'd  by  all. 

Save  one,  whose  ever  wakeful  eye  discern'd 

Before  his  artfulness,  when  'mid  the  wilds 

Of  Sinai's  wilderness,  for  forty  days 

He  constantly  assail'd  him  ;  afterwards> 

Who  through  the  gummy  air  bore  him  aloft 

Unto  the  Temple's  airy  pinnacle, — 

Show'd  him  all  kingdoms  of  the  world,  his  grant, 

Would  he  fall  down  and  worship  him.     Behold  ! 

To  the  arch-felon,  answer  Jesus  deigns  not. 

Sorrowful  he  cries, — 0  Father,  not  my  will, 

But  thine  on  earth  be  done.     Compassionate 

The  All-seeing  One  now  views  his  agony, 

Then  thus  to  Gabriel  spoke,  his  messenger, 

Who  greatest  of  the  Seraphim,  stood  nigh  the  throne, 

To  bear  the  Highest's  mandates  to  each  star, 

That  floats  afar  in  wilds  of  vacancy — 

Hither  and  thither — to  and  fro,  the  seat 

Of  God, — sandall'd  with  immortality, 

Angelic  feet  oft  traverse  the  blue  road — 

On  swift  excursive  wing,  too,  come  and  go, 

Like  lightning  flash,  his  fiery  ministers, 

Bearing  his  messages  of  peace  to  men — 

Such  came  to  him  of  old,  who  stood  alone 

On  Ulai's  banks,  divine  contemplative, 

Or  by  the  stream  of  the  far  Hiddekel — 

Gabrief,  my  swift  and  mighty  minister  ! 

Now  speed  by  rapid  flight  downward  to  earth, 

That  planet  tenanted,  thou  know'st  by  man  ; 

And  consolation  bear  my  Son,  lest  now 


74  CHRISTIAD. 

O'er  him  prevail  th'  arch-enemy.     He  said, 
The  Seraph  flew — than  flies  the  light  more  swift, 
Or  thought  from  star  to  star,  bounds  speedily, 
Alights  on  earth,  next  in  the  Garden's  shades, 
On  airy  pinions  lights  him,  where  the  Lord 
On  the  bare  earth  lay  prostrate;  and  where  night 
Her  chilly  dews  sheds  thick  around  Him.     Lo  ! 
Wifh  light  celestial  clad,  and  countenance 
Serene,  the  heavenly  watcher  stands,  his  hand 
Extending.     Then,  with  gentle  touch  revives 
The  fainting  Jesus,  who  rais'd  on  his  feet, 
Beholds  the  messenger ;  to  whom  the  angel, 
With  voice  of  silvery  sweetness  thus  began: 
Eternal  Son  of  God !  in  whom  well  pleas'd, 
Thy  Father  ever  was,  is  now,  and  shall 
Through  endless  ages  be,  when  on  thy  throne, 
A  rainbow,  emerald-like  encircling  it, 
Thou  sitt'st  exalted.     See  victory  now 
Already  certain.     Henceforth  then,  nor  faint, 
Nor  fear ;  for  in  most  glorious  vision  see, 
Hell's  legions  vanquish'd,  and  her  king,  once  more, 
Laid  prostrate  irrecoverably.     Behold  ! 
As  trophies  of  great  victory  won  by  thee, 
Unnumbered  millions,  souls  from  death  redeem'd, 
In  glory  standing,  clad  in  long  white  robes, 
God's  throne  encircling;  the  same  unfeignedly, 
On  harps  of  glory  playing;  and  their  crowns 
Cast  at  thy  feet,  loud  hallelujahs  singing — 
Salvation!  worthy,  worthy  is  the  Lamb! 
Symphoniously  their  songs,  like  as  the  sound 
Arising  from  the  noise  of  many  waters, 
Before  thy  throne  of  glory,  shall  go  up 
Unceasingly,  day  without  night  for  ever. 
Behold!  thy  sons  now  coming  from  afar! 
Thy  ransom'd,  numberless  as  sand,  which  bounds 
The  sand-girt  ocean ;  countless  as  the  stars, 
Which  stud  yon  azure  canopy  above  us ; 
The  north  and  south,  and  they  spread  to  the  east, 
And  distant  west;  Siberia's  sons,  and  men 
Of  Sinim,  India,  and  the  isles  far  south  ; 


CANTO  I.  75 

Araby;  men  of  Egypt;  Afric's  sons, 

And  they  of  Japhet's  land,  with  those  afar 

Of  Britain's  isles;  and  over  Atlas'  sea 

Unnumbered  nations  yet  unborn.     All  they 

And  many  more  shall  serve  thee.     Meanwhile, 

By  this  one  offering  of  thyself,  God-man, 

For  sin ;  both  God  and  man  are  reconcil'd  ; 

Sin,  Death  and  Hell,  too,  vanquished  utterly. 

Then  from  the  tomb  forth  issuing,  thou  com'st 

The  mighty  conqueror,  and  Satan  falls — 

His  realms  to  pieces  riven,  and  to  dust 

His  sable  banners  hurl'd;  his  strength,  too,  naught 

Availing  'gainst  thee;  he  to  realms  of  night 

Goes  down  for  ever  vanquish'cl.     Finally, 

And  only  for  a  little  season,  shall  he  e'er 

On  earth  be  terrible.     And  that,  when  thou 

With  universal  sovereignty  hast  reign'd 

The  cycle  of  ten  centuries,  with  saints 

Who  shall  be  numberless  in  every  land: 

Remanded  back  then  to  his  prison  house ; 

From  earth  he  disappears  to  come  no  more, 

Comes  then  the  awful  day — the  grand  Assize; 

By  the  Arch-Angel's  trumpet  voice  proclaim'd ; 

When  lo!  upon  thy  throne,  thou  as  earth's  Judge, 

Celestial  brightness  round  thee,  shalt  wind  up 

The  drama  of  Redemption — Time  no  more — 

Then  at  thy  word  the  globe  wide-wrapt  in  flame, 

Rolls  far  from  its  now  sinful  track,  to  one 

Not  sinful ;  and  high  heavens  at  thy  presence 

Pass  away,  together  roll'd  like  to  a  scroll ; — 

And  to  thy  own  lov'd  city,  seated  high 

Upon  the  hills  of  God,  Emmanuel's  land  ; 

In  majesty  thou  goest  gloriously, 

'Mid  loudest  choral  anthems  of  thy  saints, 

Ransom'd  by  thee,  from  out  of  every  land, 

From  the  four  winds — from  north,  south,  east  and  west. 

Then  worthy,  ever  worthy  is  the  great  I  am ! 

0  worthy, 'ever  worthy  is  the  sinless  Lamb  ! 

Thus  having  said,  the  white-wing'd  seraph  flies, 

To  the  bright  regions  of  eternal  day. 


76  CHRISTIAD. 

The  seraph  had  departed — and  the  moon 
Hung  now  aloft  o'er  Oliyet's  sad  steep, 
Illumining  the  Saviour's  god-like  brow, 
Whose  mystic  commune  now  was  at  its  close. 
"Not  my  will,  Father !  but  thine  own  be  done!" 
Fell  the  last  words  from  great  Emmanuel's  lips. 
Then  nerv'd  with  strength  by  angel  ministry ; 
Lo  !  he  arose,  and  wak'd  his  watchworn  friends., 
Long  wrapt  in  sleep,  which  had  divinely  stole 
O'er  their  soft  limbs  oppressed  with  weariness. 
Fellows,  arise  !  behold  the  traitor  comes  ! 
0  heavenly  muse !  the  deed  so  villanous, 
Which  next  ensues — beseems  thee  not  to  tell — 
Judas'  vile  deed  now  makes  the  night-queen  blush  ; 
His  spectral  genius  rising  might  declare, 
0  traitorous  Judas  !  I  will  meet  thee  there. 


END  OF  CANTO  1, 


CANTO   I. 


NOTES. 

NOTE  1.—"  The  chilly  moon  just  full  uprising  sheds, 
Through  the  dark  clouds,  &c." 

The  Jews  were  accustomed  to  celebrate  their  passover,  when  the  moon  was 
full.  This  circumstance,  therefore,  is  sufficient  to  evince  the  fact,  that  the 
darkness  occurring,  when  Messiah  hung  upon  the  cross,  was  supernatural,  and 
not  the  result  of  an  ordinary  eclipse.  An  eclipse  of  the  sun  cannot  happen  at 
full  moon.  Nature  attests  therefore,  by  her  eccentricity,  that  Christ  Jesus  is 
God. 

NOTES. —  "And  over  Kedron's  brook, 

That  brook  significant,  Messiah  passed." 

A  brook  is  so  called,  because  in  the  dry  season  it  very  often  breaks,  or  parts 
itself  in  diverse  places.  The  brook  Kedron  flows  through  the  vale  of  Jeho- 
shaphat.  The  brook  itself  lies  eastward  of  Jerusalem,  and  between  it,  and  the 
Mount  of  Olives.  Into  this  stream  ran  all  the  blood  of  the  victims,  slain  at  the 
altar.  It  was  therefore  of  great  benefit  to  the  city ;  for  with  every  flood  it  car 
ried  its  contents  into  the  Dead  Sea.  The  blood  of  the  Son  of  God,  figuratively 
washes  away  the  transgressions  of  the  many  sons,  whom  He,  the  Captain  of 
Salvation,  will  bring  to  glory.  The  sins  of  his  people  are  carried  for  ever  into 
the  sea  of  oblivion. 

NOTE  3.— "Thence  upward  climbs  the  ascent  of  Olivet, 
Far  as  Gethsemane." 

Gethseman£  was  a  little  village  at  the  ascent  of  Olivet.  Messiah  oftentimes 
betook  himself  thither  to  meditate  and  pray.  Its  garden  was  thickly  covered 
with  olive  trees  of  remarkable  size  and  beauty.  To  this  spot  Judas  came,  and 
betrayed  his  Master. 

The  moon  now  blushed  to  see  the  traitor  there, 
Who  gropes  his  way  with  the  vile  torches'  glare. 


78  CHRTSTIAD. 

NOTE  4.—  "  When  on  thy  throne, 

A  rainbow  emerald-like  encircling  it, 
Thou  sitt'st  exalted.'' 

Rev.  Chap.  iv.  v.  3.  "And  there  was  a  rainbow  round  about  the  throne, 
in  sight  like  unto  an  emerald."  The  rainbow  of  peace,  is  the  sign  of  God's 
everlasting  covenant. 

God's  beauteous  bow  of  seven  celestial  dyes, 
Appears  a  sign  to  man  amid  the  skies. 


NOTE  5. — "  and  men 

OfSinim." 

Many  commentators  conjecture,  that  the  land  of  China  is  hereby  intended. 
Isaiah  xlix.  12.  "  Behold  these  shall  come,  and  lo !  these  from,  the  north,  and 
from  the  west,  and  these  from  the  land  of  Sinim." 


NOTE  6.—  "  The  globe  wide-wrapt  in  flame, 

Rolls  far  from  its  now  sinful  track,  to  one 
Not  sinful." 

2  Peter,  chap.  iii.  v.  10.  "In  which  the  heavens  shall  pass  away,  with  a 
great  noise,  and  the  elements  shall  melt  with  fervent  heat." 

The  word  here  rendered  great  noise,  may  with  more  propriety  be  translated, 
whizzing  noise ;  the  hissing  sound  of  a  dart  passing  through  the  atmosphere, 
would  best  come  up  to  the  idea  here  intended.  It  seems  probable  therefore, 
that  our  globe,  at  the  final  conflagration,  shall  be  rolled  by  the  omnific  Word, 
into  a  new  and  sinless  orbit.  Were  a  spectator  upon  its  surface,  the  heavens 
would  seem  to  pass  away  with  a  great  noise,  and  the  same  would  appear  to  be 
rolled  together  like  a  mighty  scroll. 


CANTO  II. 


ARGUMENT. 

Invocation.— Messiah's  arraignment  before  the  High  Priest  of  the  Jews.— The  appearance 
made  by  Caiaphas,  as  clad  in  his  pontifical  robes  —He  interrogates  Jesus.  In  indig 
nation  tears  his  garments. — Messiah  is  sent  to  the  Roman  executive. — Reflections. — 
Peter  challenged  by  the  slaves  of  Caiaphas. — His  denial  of  his  Lord,  and  repentance. 


CANTO  II. 


Eternal  Spirit!  who  at  Jordan's  bank, 
Upon  the  Son,  dove-like,  descending  cam's! ! 
The  voice  from  open'd  heavens  audibly 
Declaring — "This  is  my  much  beloved  Son, 
In  whom  I  am  well  pleased" — rest  on  my  soul : 
That  understandingly,  I  may  relate, 
What  happen'd  to  my  Lord;  his  friends  all  fled. 
And  Judas  his  betrayer;  who  ere  while, 
For  thirty  pieces,  covenanted  price — 
To  priests  and  elders  sold  him.     Spirit!  tell 
What  Jesus  did  for  sin  and  sinners  bear. 
By  men  condemned  to  drink  that  cup  of  wo 
Which  dare  not  pass  from  him.     Tell  to  my  soul. 
The  sorrows  of  the  man,  God-man,  erewhile 
The  infant  Deity — born  in  a  stall — 
The  straw  his  bed,  his  earthly  canopy, 
Who  as  the  thunder-god,  enthron'd  on  high. 
Strikes  consternation  to  a  guilty  world — 
An  humble  shed,  o'er  which  the  mystic  star 
Hung  by  divine  command,  to  point  the  way 
To  wondering  Magi,  oriental  seers, 
His  first  adorers.     Fades  the  sun-god's  light 
Before  the  ever-living  light  of  Him, 
Whose  throne's  infinitude.     Lo!  at  his  feet 
They  lay  their  tributary  presents  down, 
As  swath'd  in  infant  bands,  he  sleeping  lies 
In  the  rude  manger.     Mysterious  babe 
6 


82  CHRISTIAD. 

Of  David's  royal  lineage — his  birth 

A  mystery — from  virgin  sprung — and  lo  ! 

The  little  Bethlehem,  David's  town, 

Scene  of  his  proud  nativity;  where  sang 

The  angelic  choirs,  while  shepherds  heard, 

Borne  through  the  air  all  tremblingly,  the  sweet 

And  golden  music — "Glory  to  our  God, 

Peace  and  good-will  to  men." — Thus  said  my  heart, 

When  sorrowfully  sang  the  Spirit  all  divine; 

'Twas  now  past  midnight — Salem's  city  still; 

And  sleep  enchaining  her  proud  citizens, 

Yet  in  the  High  Priest's  palace,  rendezvous 

Of  Israel's  Sanhedrim;  priests,  elders,  scribes, 

Sat  in  assembly,  judges  of  the  man, 

Who  comes  erelong  God-man,  and  Judge  of  all. 

Before  this  dread  tribunal,  feared  by  those 

Who  dwell  in  Judah's  vast  metropolis — 

Behold  !  ineffable  Benignity — 

Jesus,  the  man  of  godlike  innocence. 

Meanwhile,  attentively,  old  Annas'  son 

Harks  to  the  allegations  falsely  made 

By  two  suborned  accusers.     Willingly 

He  lists,  with  purpose  to  condemn  the  one 

In  mind  long  since  prejudged.     And  lo  ! 

In  his  pontificals,  full  royally 

Arrayed  he  stood.     With  ephod  curiously'wrought— 

Cerulean-dye — rich  purple  intermixed 

With  gold,  and  judgment  plate  all  diversely 

Adorned  with  jewels ;  where  engraven  stood 

All  Israel's  family.     Mystery  of  old  ; 

The  Urim,  Thummim  emblematical 

Of  light  celestial,  which  the  Levite  wore, 

When  Israel's  oracle  returned  in  living  voice, 

The  oracular  response.     Thus  clad,  and  with 

Tiara  gorgeously  wrought,  to  God 

Most  High  thereon  inscrib'd  be  holiness. 

In  indignation  Caiaphas  began, 

Art  thou  in  verity  Messiah  ?  Christ, 

Son  of  the  Blessed  One  ?     Behold  !  I  am  — 

Hereafter  too,  in  clouds  of  heaven  I  come. 


CANTO  II.  83 

Where  every  eye  shall  see  me — likewise  they 

Who  pierced  me  cruelly.     Resumed  the  priest, 

What  needs  the  council  here  of  further  evidence  ? 

Messiah's  tongue  has  utter'd  blasphemy. 

Thus  haughtily  spoke  the  vain  counsellor; 

Rent  in  pieces  is  his  robe  pontifical, 

Whose  azure  colour'd  fragments  falling,  drop 

Upon  the  tesselated  floor  of  white, 

Red,  blue,  and  diverse  figur'd  marble.     Act 

Significant,  to  which  the  senate  now, 

With  loud  applause,  cry  out,  Amen!     Yet  not 

Unanimously.     Nicodemus  then, 

With  eye  directed  heavenward — dared  alone, 

With  one  of  Ramah,  to  protest  against 

Such  judgment  damnable.     Amen!  amen! 

Reverberated  loud,  where  counsellors 

Now  wink  at  cruelty.     The  sentence  pass'd — 

The  act  condemnatory  had  transpir'd 

In  the  grand  council — senate  of  the  Jews; 

Significant  to  minions  villanous, 

To  use  premeditated  mockery. 

That  countenance,  before  which  angels  fall, 

Veiling  their  faces  with  their  wings,  the  rage 

Of  menials  dares  to  desecrate,  and  lo ! 

The  buffets  scornfully  upon  his  pale  face  fall ; 

Echoes  the  loud  cry — prophesy,  0  man! 

Who  hath  just  smitten  thee  ?     Yet  passively 

Yielded  the  Innocent  to  base  indignity. 

Morn  purple-mantle-clad — now  peering  o'er 

Judea's  lofty  hills,  bids  the  stars  pale 

Before  her  coming  light;  yet  in  their  robes 

Of  scarlet,  sat  the  proud  nobility — 

Elite  of  Judah — rulers — pharisees — and  scribes — 

In  legislation  'gainst  the  Holy,  Just, 

All-gracious  Lawgiver  of  worlds  afar 

And  near — his  moral  monarchy — 'gainst  Him 

Who  taught  to  Moses — mighty  counsellor, 

When  forty  days  he  stood  in  mystic  talk 

With  God,  on  Sinai's  fiery  top — whence  came 

Amid  the  thunderings — the  voice  of  words — 


84  CHRISTTAD. 

Where  too  with  golden  pen,  divinely  bid. 

The  seraphim  engrav'd  the  decalogue. 

There  sat  Judea's  judges — likewise  there, 

On  every  brow  Hate  made  her  resting  place — 

Hate  like  to  his — who  enviously  wroth, 

Smote  his  more  righteous  brother.     Envy  there 

Gnash'd  his  green  teeth  maliciously,  as  like 

To  fellest  snake  infolded,  now  he  coils 

In  each  breast  secretly.     The  king  of  day 

Now  suddenly  uprose  refulgently, 

And  with  him  rose  the  hum  of  multitudes, 

Hither  and  thither  in  Jerusalem, 

Hurrying  to  execute  their  daily  toil — 

Forth  went  the  mandate — Lead  him  now  away 

To  Pilate,  Judah's  governor.     In  him 

Invested  stood  by  Caesar's  firm  decree, 

The  right  executive.     The  Roman  rules; 

And  haughtily  his  eagle  hovers  o'er 

Judea's  melancholy  Capitol. 

Shiloh  indeed  is  come.     The  sceptre  gone 

From  out  the  hands  of  Israel's  recreant  sons. 

Lo  !  speedily  they  lead  Messiah  on, 

Accelerative  act  of  sad  Judea's  doom  ; 

Making  replete  that  cup  of  bitterness, 

Of  her  own  mixing.     Verily,  comes  on 

The  temple's  desolation.     Soon,  alas! 

See  her  departed  glory.     Verified 

In  her  is  prophecy.     Earth's  kings  combine 

'Gainst  the  Almighty's  Son.     His  hour  is  come — 

Achiev'd  his  mission,  and  behold!  the  One, 

Whom  cheerfully  his  angel  hosts  obey  ; 

Whose  dread  command  made  seas  be  pacified, 

And  tempests  still — red  lightnings  play, 

And  thunders  fall,  terrifically  grand  — 

That  One  resists  not.     Wherefore,  so?  Why  did 

The  Sovereign  of  the  sky,  who  laughs  to  scorn 

Earth's  proud  Ahithophels,  permit  the  one 

Whom  men  call  Judas,  traitorously  to  kiss, 

And  then  betray  his  Master  ?  Wonder,  earth  \ 

Astonish'd  be  ye  heavens!  Tremble,  hell! 


CANTO  II.  85 

At  man's  ingratitude.     Betray'd  and  seiz'd, 

And  bound — where  are  his  followers?     To  earth 

Who  came  a  visitant  to  seek,  to  save 

Forlorn  humanity.     Messiah  came, 

In  human  garb  to  dwell  with  sinful  clay ; 

Yet  to  their  Guest  benevolently  come, 

His  people  did  deny  a  resting  place — 

His  own  dear  Israel  would  have  none  of  Him. 

All — all  have  fled — and  that  one  only  nigh, 

Who  walked  the  waves  with  him.     But  tremblingly, 

The  palace  hall  now  slowly  enters  he, 

While  round  the  fire  conferringly,  the  slaves 

With  soldiers  intermix'd — a  motly  band, 

Convers'd  in  merriment;  each  in  his  turn, 

Telling  of  the  exploit  near  Olivet; 

Where  Judas'  mercenary  throng  this  eve, 

Lit  by  the  torches'  melancholy  glare, 

Had  taken  Jesus  captive.     Nigh  a  brazier's  fire, 

Whose  lurid  light  play'd  wildly  round  the  hall, 

Still  wilder  making  the  wild  band  of  men 

With  its  red  rays — pale,  spectral-like,  and  wan, 

Stood  Christ's  alarm'd  disciple;  when  a  slave, 

One  of  the  mongrel  group,  who  long  with  eye 

Malignantly  had  view'd  him;  thus  began — 

Thou  also  art  of  them.     The  same  methinks, 

Who  smote  our  fellow  here,  with  instrument 

Of  war,  his  ear  off  lopping — which  as  soon 

Thy  wizard  master  rendered  sound  again, 

By  magic  of  his  touch — his  wonted  art, 

For  which  they  now  before  the  High  Priest's  bar, 

With  other  charges  try  him.     Thou  art  he. 

By  Abraham  I  swear,  I  saw  thee  too, 

With  Jesus,  as  he  stroll'd  along  the  way, 

As  was  his  wont,  in  upper  Galilee ; 

Peter  had  thrice  denied.     Suddenly  the  cock, 

Prophetic  monitor!  with  trumpet  voice 

Proclaim'd  another  day — proclaim'd  to  him, 

He  thrice  denied  his  Master.     Peter  wept — 

For  the  dear  eye  of  One,  who  looks  on  all, 

Upbraidingly  was  cast  on  him.     Alas  ! 


86  CHRISTIAD. 

What  others  deem'd  an  insignificant 

And  accidental  cry  ;  came  like  a  voice 

Of  thunder  to  his  soul,  who  knew  full  well, 

The  purport  of  that  look — and  mystic  sound  ; — 

Oh!  certainly  of  this,  infatuate  one, 

Messiah  did  forewarn  thee.     Even  so, 

The  cock  shall  not  crow  twice,  'till  thou  thyself 

Shalt  have  full -thrice  denied  me.     He  denies — 

Who  confidently  erewhile  had  declared ; 

Thou  knowest  all  things,  Lord  !  thou  knowest  welL 

I  love  thee.     Bitterly  poor  Peter  wept — 

Repentance  genuine — with  sorrow's  tears. 


END  OF  CANTO  IT, 


CANTO    II. 


NOTES. 

NOTE  1.— 

The  robe  of  the  ephod,  in  the  gorgeous  dress  of  the  Jewish  High  Priest,  was 
made  of  blue.  The  prominent  colour  of  the  hangings  of  the  tabernacle  was 
also  azure.  It  seems  to  have  been  the  favourite  colour  of  the  people  in  eastern 
regions.  The  curtains  of  the  palace  of  king  Ahasuerus  were  of  this  colour, 
with  a  pavement  of  blue,  red,  and  white  marble. 

NOTE  2.— 

The  use  of  charcoal  in  Braziers  was  common  in  the  East.  So,  when  our 
Lord  stood  arraigned  before  Caiaphas,  the  officers  and  others  had  a  fire  of  coals 
in  a  Brazier,  for  the  purpose  of  warming  themselves. 


CANTO    III. 


ARGUMENT. 

The  disciples  seated  near  mount  Olivet — Discourse  of  John,  the  beloved  disciple. — Tin- 
son  of  Alpheus  answers. — Phenomenon. — Remarks  of  Thomas,  the  doubting  discipk . 
Appearance  of  Raphael,  one  of  the  celestial  host,  and  his  relation  of  the  death  of  Judas. 
The  picturesque  scene  of  his  tragic  end. — The  soliloquy  of  Judas  Iscariot. — Mammon, 
the  money-god,  presents  himself.  Judas  in  despair  commits  suicide. — Reflections 


CANTO    III. 


Hard  by  that  purple-tinted  stream  which  purls 

Just  past  the  base  of  sacred  Olivet, 

Disconsolate  sat  some  of  Jesus'  sad 

And  watchworn  followers — alarm'd  and  tir'd ; 

When  one  whom  Jesus  lov'd  exceedingly, 

First  calls  them  to  reflection.     Saying  thus; 

Ah  !  fellow-followers  of  our  suffering  Lord  ! 

How  ought  our  hearts  in  gratitude  to  burn, 

With  love  to  Him,  who  of  his  sovereign  will, 

Hath  made  us  differ  from  our  Lord's  tormentors ! 

Who  also  did  before  all  time  us  choose, 

The  heirs  apparent  of  his  glory — heirs 

Of  never-fading  crowns  to  be  bestow'd, 

When  we  shall  have  our  residence,  on  bright 

And  sunny  hills  of  immortality. 

Though  aliens  born,  Messiah  would  make  us, 

By  high  donation,  denizens  to  dwell 

In  heavens  tertian,  where  comes  not  the  betrayer. 

Far  in  yon  central  world,  round  which  now  roll, 

In  their  predestin'd  orbits,  other  worlds, 

Together  with  their  planetary  spheres, 

In  numbers  numberless — in  that  far  world, 

The  heaven  of  heavens  called — in  beauty  stands 

Our  God's  eternal  city ;  seated  high 

Upon  the  hills  of  immortality. 

Innumerable  companies  of  saints 

And  holy  angels  throng  it.     There  too,  behold! 

The  Highest's  throne;  a  rainbow  emerald-like, 


92  CHRISTIAD. 

Encircling  it  for  ever;  while  beneath, 

Life's  river  pure,  in  brightest  crystal  streams, 

Makes  its  continual  course — and  on  its  banks, 

The  nations  of  the  sav'd  pluck  from  life's  tree, 

Its  healing  leaves,  and  live  for  evermore. 

Thus  spake  the  lov'd  one,  John.     To  him  in  turn, 

The  son  of  Alpheus  answers.     Ah  !  methinks, 

This  mystery  of  mysteries  should  cause 

Us  wonder.     Into  its  depths  the  angels  pry; 

Into  Redemption's  depths  of  mysteries. 

That  sad  eventful  eve,  long  shall  we  mind; 

That  parting  banquet,  fondly  call  again 

To  our  remembrance.     Fellows  all!  ah  !  how 

Transfix'd  with  horror,  were  we  all,  save  one, 

When  from  those  lips  divine,  escap'd  the  words, 

"  One  of  you  shall  betray  me."     Then  said  we, 

Every  one;  "Lord!  is  it  I?"  and  that  false  one, 

Whom  Mammon  had  laid  hold  on,  said  so  too, 

And  going  out,  soon  prov'd  himself  betrayer. 

Lord!  guide  our  feet,  to  keep  thy  last  command; 

Oh!  let  us  not  like  Judas  vile  betray  thee; 

And  lead  us,  till  at  last  we  shall  sit  down 

At  thy  immortal  banquet,  drinking  wine 

Where  there  is  no  betrayer.     He  had  said, 

When  high  in  upper  air,  just  then  with  noise, 

A  meteor  broke  away,  and  heavenward 

Drew  them.     With  its  trail,  widely  it  swept  the  west 

Division  of  the  blue-arch'd  vault.     Behold! 

Outspake  another  of  the  twelve,  deep  vers'd 

In  prodigies.     What  means  yon  sword-like  star, 

On  his  red  track  portentously  careering? 

A  death-foreboding  messenger  to  tell 

Of  bloody  sufferings,  speedily  to  fall 

Upon  our  much  lov'd  Master.     Yea,  on  him, 

Who  shall  himself,  when  yon  bright  stars  shall  fade, 

And  day's  bright  luminary  hide  his  head, 

And  that  from  earth  for  ever,  down  descend, 

Himself  the  great  arch-angel  of  the  skies; 

"And  with  one  foot  on  sea,  and  one  on  solid  land," 

By  trump,  proclaim,  "Time  is  no  more  " — from  graves, 


CANTO  III.  93 

Then  instantaneously  arise  the  dead; 

Both  small  and  great;  both  poor  and  rich  appear; 

The  servant  with  his  master.     Likewise  there, 

The  man  often  centurial  years;  and  there, 

Up  comes  the  infant  of  a  day.     All  rise — 

The  blast  thro'  earth's  cavernous  depths  resounding. 

By  Him  alone,  our  Saviour,  brother,  friend, 

Whose  time  is  come,  to  dwell  on  earth  no  more, 

Companion  of  our  clay.     By  him,  I  say, 

Shall  time's  proud  sceptre  pointing  on 

To  coming  destinies  be  shiver'd.     Then, 

Let  us  banish  fear.     Hopelessly  or  soon, 

Or  late,  the  archer  Death  were  sure  to  strike, 

If  He  die  not,  to  make  the  awful  road, 

Our  passage  home.     Thus  sorrowful  he  said — 

To  them  too  sorrowful,  appears  in  light, 

One  fair  angelic  messenger,  to  tell 

The  end  of  Judas  the  betrayer.     Friends! 

And  chosen  few  of  Him,  the  Highest's  Son! 

I,  Raphael,  from  above,  am  sent  to  tell 

Of  Judas'  horrid  sufferings.     Recently, 

Hard  by  the  dismal  spot,  I  stood,  as  he 

In  terror  recklessly  destroyed  himself. 

Ye  mind  that  darksome  wild,  where  oft  ye  walk'd, 

With  Jesus  fearlessly;  where  too  alone, 

For  forty  settings  of  day's  luminary, 

Fiends  of  all  forms,  by  tempting  tried,  and  beasts 

Of  forest  howl'd  around  him.     Standing  nigh, 

I  view'd  the  traitor's  tragic  end.     'Twas  now, 

That  Judas  realized  the  truth ;  wo!  wo! 

To  him,  who  shall  betray  God's  Son.     For  him, 

Much  better  had  he  not  been  born.     How  true ! 

Whom  suppliant  angels  worship  and  adore, 

Iscariot  betrays.     'Tis  done — and  lo! 

One  moment  still  irresolute  he  stays — 

Then  hies  away  to  that  lone  spot,  there  stands ; 

Remorse,  despair,  and  ruin  seized  on  him 

All  simultaneously;  lo!  conscience  speaks. 

Conscience,  dread  monitress,  already  rues 

Enacted  villanies — There  furies  rage, 


94  CHRISTIAD. 

While  round  their  heads  fell  vipers  hissingly 

Disport  them.     Fearfully  they  ply  the  lash — 

Each  feature  shows  the  victim's  mental  throes; 

Trembles  he  as  the  quivering  aspen. 

Hark!  to  his  sad  soliloquy.     Ah!  me, 

Such  fiend  as  I  dwells  not  below  in  pit, 

Though  bottomless.     For  thirty  pieces,  I 

Have  sold  the  Innocent;  and  selling  him, 

Have  bought  damnation.     Cursed  thirst  of  gold  ! 

Why  didst  thou  cause  me  make  such  bargaining! 

The  purse  I  bare,  has  ruin  brought  to  me. 

In  this  fit  haunt  of  demons,  fiends  of  hell, 

What  horrors  now  enwrap  me.     Hope  is  fled. 

He  said.     And  lo!  hard  by,  dark  Acheron, 

With  hideous  gap,  seems  opening.     Backward  then. 

He  starts  convulsively.     Lo!  rising  up, 

The  horrid  Mammon  stands  confest.     'Twas  I, 

That  led  thee,  Judas,  to  the  brink  of  this, 

No  other  than  great  Beelzebub's  abode. 

Across  th'  unfathom'd  way  to  thee  I  sped; 

I  tempted,  triumph'd;  and  Iscariot  fell. 

Thus  Mammon  spoke  exultingly.     And  quick 

His  sable  pinions  waving,  backward  hies 

To  regions  of  assimilated  fiends. 

Well  hast  thou  said  seducer,  thou  saidst  well, 

Give  me  thine  heart.     The  fool  did  give  it  thee, 

And  all  is  lost,  lost  irretrievably. 

Here  then  I  stand,  and  to  myself  am  hell. 

What  lake  of  fire?  what  pit  though  bottomless  ? 

What  chains  of  darkness,  dreadful  as  myself? 

Annihilation  I  shall  never  see; 

But  shall  for  ever  live,  and  with  the  damn'd. 

Live  did  I  say?  nay  die — and  dying  ne'er 

To  me  the  possibility  of  being  dead. 

He  said.     And  fury  seizes  all  his  soul. 

Then  desperation  deepest,  darkest,  wild, 

Consummates  all  in  him,  a  suicide. 

A  cord  now  twisting  wildly,  o'er  his  head 

Iscariot  throws.     Clambers  he  then  high  up 

A  rock  precipitous.     Suspended  there, 


CANTO  III.  95 

He  meets  death's  fearful  struggle.     On  a  crag, 

Which  pointing  upwardly,  all  rugged  lay 

Below  him,  Judas  falls,  and  shriekingly, 

Spreads  all  his  vitals  round  him.     Lo!  he  dies. 

For  ease  then,  traitor  !  didst  thou  downward  go  '". 

Ah  !  awful  perpetuity  of  wo  ! 

Damnation  !  horror  and  despair  !  he  died — 

The  covenanted  price  of  blood,  reward 

Of  his  atrocity,  is  freely  made 

The  price  of  an  Aceldama — a  field 

Of  blood.     Ah  !  stain  for  ever  to  the  men 

Who  wrought  this  foulest  of  all  tragedies. 

They  value  One,  who  could  not  valued  be, 

And  Judas'  house  did  desolation  see, 

And  infamv  for  ever.     Judas  died. 


END  Of  CANTO  III, 


CANTO    III. 


NOTES. 

NOTE  1.—"  Far  in  yon  central  world  round  which  now  roll, 
In  their  predestin'd  orbits  other  worlds,"  &c. 

The  episode  of  Heaven,  beginning  with  these  lines,  is  singular  in  concep 
tion.  The  apostle  Paul,  however,  mentions  that  he  was  caught  up  into  the 
third  heaven,  and  saw  things  unutterable.  The  first  heaven  is  aerial.  We 
speak  of  the  birds  of  heaven.  The  second  is  the  starry  expanse.  Far  beyond 
our  vision  is  a  third,  reserved  probably  for  the  abode  of  just  men  made  perfect, 
the  glorious  habitation  of  God — the  primum  mobile  of  worlds. 

The  imagery  of  this  poem  may  be  found  in  the  Book  of  Revelation.  There 
we  read  of  the  Holy  City — of  the  Rainbow  round  the  throne — of  the  River 
of  Life — and  the  Tree,  whose  leaves  are  for  the  healing  of  the  nations. 


NOTE  2.— 

The  passages  of  Scripture  relative  to  the  manner  of  Iscariot's  latter  end,  the 
author  has  endeavoured  to  reconcile.  In  one  it  is  said  he  hanged  himself.  In 
another  he  is  described  as  falling  headlong,  when  he  burst  asunder  in  the  midst, 
and  all  his  bowels  gushed  out. 


CANTO  IV> 


ARGUMENT. 

-Jesus  Christ  is  arraigned  before  the  Roman  governor.— Description  of  Pilate's  judgment- 
seat. — The  charges  preferred  against  Messiah.— Interrogatories  made  by  the  Jewish 
ruler.  —  Wonderful  vision  of  Salome,  wife  of  the  governor,  as  related  in  her  letter  sent  in 
haste  to  him. — Reflections. — Jeaus  before  king  Herod. — His  treatment* — He  is  remand 
ed.— Reflections. 


CANTO  IV. 


In  Pilate's  palace  lo !  Messiah  stands, 
Spectacle  of  innocence  betray'd. 
The  "meek,  the  merciful,  the  just,"  the  kind; 
A  guest  who  came  to  walk  this  world  of  man, 
They  hale  a  criminal  to  mortal's  bar. 
His  sentence  comes  from  a  frail  mortal's  lips, 
To  which  his  power  gave  utterance.     Dar'st  thou, 
0  mortal  judge!  to  judge  Omnipotence? 
Judge  not,  lest  thou  be  judg'd  by  the  omnific  Word. 
The  deed  is  done.     Messiah  hears  his  doom 
Pronounc'd  by  finite  creature's  sinful  tongue. 
Lo !  from  his  lips  no  malediction  falls. 
Breaks  not  with  terror  vengeance  from  his  eye. 
Lo!  there  is  love,  benign  humility- 
Accomplishment  of  the  Eternal's  plan; 
They  led  Messiah  like  a  Lamb  to  slaughter. 
His  hour  is  come.     And  he  must  taste  of  death 
For  every  man  of  many  sons;  for  whom 
Before  his  Father's  throne  he  soon  on  high, 
Shall  offer  intercession,  as  High  Priest 
Presenting  incense  of  his  holiness — 
Jesus,  almighty  Advocate  for  men. 
See  on  his  throne  Judea's  governor! 
High  seated,  clad  in  Roman  finery, 
Trappings  of  state,  and  its  magnificence. 
Around  him  on  the  tesselated  floor, 
With  diverse  colour'd  stones  inlaid,  the  same 
By  Jews  called  pavement;  artfully  disposed; 
Of  taste  the  elegance;  and  fond  display 
Of  Roman  vanity ;  the  judges  sat. 


102  CHRISTIAD. 

Hard  by  the  hir'd  accusers — Jews  whose  law 
Forbade  them  ingress.     Falsely  they  prefer, 
Against  the  King  of  kings,  to  earth  who  came, 
Saviour  in  an  assum'd  humanity; 
Charges  and  deposition  villanous. 
Who  makes  black  hurricane  his  awful  throne, 
And  marks  the  storm-clouds  with  his  tracks  of  fire, 
As  over  them  he  rides  careeringly; 
His  voice  the  thunder  tone — lightning  his  spear; 
To  finite  mind  incomprehensible, 
Permits  man's  villany.     Man  free  in  act — 
Free  agent  he,  and  willing  instrument. 
Humanity's  vile  deed,  yet  his  decree ; 
Who  foreordains  what  comes  to  pass ;  be  it 
To  angels  or  to  men.     Man  unrestrained- 
Does  his  mind's  will ;  Divinity  not  bound 
To  offer  his  prevention.     God  is  free — 
Man  chargeable — his  sinful  state  presents 
One  motive,  only  sin.     Regenerate, 
His  motive  only  righteousness,  which  points 
To  the  eternal,  never-fading  crown 
Of  glory.     Voluntary  act  indeed — 
By  God  determinate,  by  Him  foreknown. 
Through  envy  of  a  wicked  heart,  the  Jews  adjudge 
To  death  whom  yesterday  they  hail'd  as  king. 
What  charge  ye,  witnesses?     The  truth,  the  truth— 
A  sower  of  sedition,  it  must  needs 
That  thou  condemn.     Signs,  miracles,  and  speech 
Inflammatory  spread  throughout  the  land — 
And  he  the  author.     Jeoparded  the  lands — 
Judea — Galilee — and  Palestine. 
Judea's  ruler  !  certainly  we  can 
These  truths  make  evident.     This  fellow  here, 
Too  villanous  for  earth,  we  have  arraign'd 
Before  the  nation's  Sanhedrim.     Such  acts 
O'erlooked  plead  our  disloyalty,  and  we 
Accountable,  if  fate  prevent  not,  shall 
Ere  long  behold  Rome's  armies,  terribly 
Array'd,  advance  against  us — and  our  name 
Be  known  no  more  in  annals  of  the  nations — 


CANTO  IV.  103 

Allegiance  tributary  he  denies 

To  Ca3sar,  rightful  sovereign  ;  therefore  he 

Would  cause  us  lose  existence  national — 

Self-deem'd  the  king  o'er  Palestine.     Destroy 

Yon  glorious  temple,  radiating  now 

Refulgently  its  glory,  from  Moriah's  height ; 

And  lo  !  Messiah  in  three  days,  rebuilds 

The  far  fam'd  monument.     Th'  accusers  said, 

With  sudden  interrogatories  he, 

In  judge's  solemn  accents  thus  began  : 

Art  thou  the  Christ,  Son  of  the  blessed  one, 

Expected  over  Israel  ?     I  am  He. 

A  temporal  prince  I  came  not,  were  it  so ! 

Then  are  my  subjects  militant.     "I  am 

The  truth,"  Messiah  said  mysteriously. 

What  means  the  Truth  ?     What  necessity  exists 

To  speak  evasively  ?     Dost  thou,  arraigned 

At  Pilate's  awful  bar,  persist  so  long, 

In  obstinate  demur,  to  answer  what 

These  say  against  thee  ?    Plead'st  thou  not,  nor  guilt 

Nor  innocence  ?    Were  I  indeed  to  tell, 

"I  am  the  Christ" — Ye  would  not  then  believe. 

"A  king  thou  sayest  that  I  am  " — He  spake, 

When  hastily,  before  the  footstool,  stood 

A  slave-like  messenger.     The  paper  seal'd, 

Mysteriously  disparting,  shows  Salome's  dream. 

Compliance  Pilate  grant  not  to  request, 

Preferr'd  by  Jews,  to  crucify  their  Lord, 

"Nor  have  thou  aught  to  do  with  that  just  man." 

Last  night  as  I  lamenting  griev'd  for  him, 

Whom  Jews  arraign  before  thee,  suddenly 

Came  there  a  thunder  sound,  which  terror-struck 

Me  and  my  maidens  round  me.     Speedily 

The  roof  unfolding,  light  celestial  shed, 

Show'd  one  celestial  visitant.     His  words, 

"Go!  warn  the  Governor."     The  ruler  mus'd. 

No  voice,  nor  sound,  disturbs  the  stillness  then, 

So  suddenly,  mysteriously  spread.  • 

What  is  the  truth?  well  may  the  sinner  ask — 

The  truth,  Palladium  of  man's  liberty. 


104  CHRISTIAD. 

The  truth  of  God,  which  makes  the  captive  free. 

A  world's  foundation-stone,  whereon  she  rests. 

The  truth,  best  emblem  of  Divinity. 

The  faithful  messenger  divinely  sent, 

The  infidel  believes  not — seal'd  his  doom. 

Ah!  faithful  monitory  to  thy  soul, 

Misguided,  ill-directed  man  !  much  like 

To  adder  deaf  to  music's  melody, 

Made  by  wise  charmer's  sweetest  instrument, 

Thou  stoppedst  thy  proud  ear ;  attending  not 

To  mercy's  sympathetic  voice  ;  nor  to 

The  mighty  monitor  within — the  love 

Of  woman  seen  in  tenderness  is  lost — 

Is  lost,  alas!  on  thee.     In  Eden's  crime 

She  first.     First  suppliant  for  the  life 

Of  Him,  the  mighty  crucified — 

First  at  the  Sepulchre  to  seek  her  Lord — 

First  bath'd  his  feet  with  true  affection's  tears. 

But  woman's  love — what  foolishness  to  him — 

Like  meteor's  momentary  glare,  it  comes, 

Then  goes  to  be  forgotten  utterly. 

Now  just  at  hand  the  paschal  festival, 

Commemorative  of  Exodus  of  old, 

From  Egypt's  slavery — and  of  the  night 

When  the  destroyer,  angel-like,  pass'd  o'er 

The  habitations  of  the  captive  Jews, 

To  slay  the  first  born  of  proud  Pharaoh's  land — 

Therefore  the  multitude  of  visitants, 

Which  throng'd  Judea's  mighty  Capitol — 

With  whom  came  Herod,  king  of  Galilee, 

To  whom  in  courtesy — at  his  desire, 

Pilate  suspends  the  execution  now 

Of  sentence  pass'd.     Through  darkling  ways  and  streets. 

All  hurriedly  they  hale  Messiah  on — 

Arriv'd  they  stood  at  Herod's  dwelling  place. 

Now  joyfully  came  the  proud  sovereign  forth 

Expectant — and  apparell'd  royally. 

Divinest  homage  'Herod  would  demand, 

As  afterwards,  when  people  gave  the  shout, 

Behold  the  demi-god!  nor  miracle 


CANTO  IV.  105 

Nor  wonder,  sign,  comes  at  the  king's  command; 
Though  wrought  at  wish  of  vilest  mendicant, 
Who  crav'd  the  alms.     Guards  !  lead  him  now  away  — 
Lo!  in  red  rags — insignia  villanous! 
The  Roman  warriors  clothe  him.     When  alas! 
With  mercenary  ire  they  buffet  him, 
Who  scorns  their  cruelty — yea  even  him; 
Who,  were  he  to  put  forth  his  dormant  powers, 
Like  Nazarite  of  old  could  them  destroy; 
Who  on  his  shoulders  took  proud  Gaza's  gates — 
And  up  the  hill  high  bore  them:  or  again, 
With  mighty  arm  firm  grasp'd  the  pillars  huge. 
Of  th'  edifice  of  Philistina's  lords, 
O'erturning  them.     Messiah  crucify  ! 
Is  the  reiterated  shout  of  the  mad  throng, 
Who  had  erewhile  beheld  his  miracles. 
And  who  again  with  loud  hosannahs  hail'd 
Their  Saviour  King — the  way — the  streets — with  palms 
And  garments  spread  for  carpeting ;  as  He 
Triumphantly  rode  on  to  make  once  more, 
His  entry  at  the  Capital.     Lo!  now, 
?Twas  usage  immemorial,  to  set  free 
The  paschal  prisoner.     The  usual  rite — 
Which  Jew  observ'd,  remembrancer,  that  he 
Through  the  Red  sea  fled  Pharaoh's  tyranny. 
Therefore  the  cry — Barabbas,  set  thou  free! 
Barabbas  of  notorious  memory. 
Messiah  crucify  !  Lo  !  Pilate  yields. 
Lave  not  thy  hands — 0  ruler  !  thou  art 
Free  from  this  blood-guiltiness.     Such  the  cry  — 
Be  it  on  us,  and  our  posterity. 
Ah  !  cruel  imprecation,  as  'twas  mad, 
To  light  not  only  on  themselves,  but  on 
Ill-fated  offspring  yet  unborn.     Alas  ! 
In  phrenzy,  nay  barbarity,  they  so 
Insensible  becoming,  hate  their  young — 
Nay  more — the  bird  of  desert  singular, 
Presents  a  mother  mindless  of  her  child. 
A  parent,  she  for  safety  flees  away, 
Regardless  should  a  hunter's  foot  pass  o'er. 


106  CHRTSTIAD. 

Or  savage  beast  destroy  it.     Not  so  they — 

The  senseless  Jew,  now  callous,  hates  himself, 

And  offspring ;  therefore  recklessly  hereby, 

Off-cutting  generations  still  unborn 

From  the  entail  of  blessings  of  his  blood; 

Who  said  affectionately,  to  his  own 

Lov'd  city  of  Jerusalem.     How  oft 

Would  I  have  gathered  into  one,  even  all 

Thine  offspring,  as  the  hen  her  youthful  brood 

Beneath  her  wings.     Alas  !  ye  would  not.     Ah  ! 

Thou  Jerusalem  !     Jerusalem  !  the  pride, 

Lov'd  ornament— ^-and  loveliest  resort 

Of  Judah's  tribes — of  her  metropolis,  so  fair, 

So  beautiful,  the  constant  seat.     Ah  !  thou, 

The  sweetest  spot  of  Zion's  holy  hill — 

Of  beauty  the  perfection — -joy — delight — - 

Of  every  land — and  type  significant 

Of  New  Jerusalem  above — thou  didst 

The  offer  haughtily  reject — all  right 

To  refuge  under  the  Almighty's  wings 

Thus  forfeiting  for  ever  wickedly  ; 

Thou  the  hope,  delight  of  every  land,  must  soon 

A  hissing  be.     The  present  act  of  thine 

Precipitates  thy  doom,  and  speedily 

The  shatter'd  Salem  falleth  utterly. 

Blest  Book  of  God  !  such  things  recorded  be, 

Writ  on  thy  truthful  pages.     There  we  see — 

A  bleeding  Saviour  hang  on  Calvary. 

What  precious  knowledge  !  knowledge  how  divine, 

We  learn  from  thee.     The  dead  is  now  alive; 

Therefore  we  trust  to  wing  our  way  afar, 

Reckless  of  matter,  space,  and  fleeting  time, 

And  stand  before  the  bow-encircled  throne 

Of  the  great  Crucified.     Lo  !  standing  there 

In  the  long  robes  of  Jesus'  righteousness, 

While  we  behold  the  universe  roll  round ; 

The  moral  empire  of  a  risen  Lord — 

We  shall  the  wisdom  of  God's  ways  discern — •     * 

His  ways — th'  Unchangeable — the  great  Profound. 

EffD  OF  CANTO  IV. 


CANTO  IV. 


NOTES. 

NOTE  1.— "In  Pilate's  palace,  lo!  Messiah  stands." 

How  little  did  the  Roman  ruler  imagine  who  it  was  that  now  stood  before 
him !  Little  did  he  imagine  that  he  himself  must  stand  before  the  tribunal  of 
the  very  person  he  is  now  about  to  condemn. 

NOTE  2.— "Salome's  dream." 

There  is  a  special  providence  in  this.  It  is  an  honourable  testimony  to  our 
Lord.  Pilate's  lady  sends  it  out  of  love  to  him.  He  had  every  warning  there 
fore,  to  keep  him  from  the  sin  of  sentencing  our  Saviour.  He  at  first  laboured 
hard  to  set  Messiah  at  liberty — overcome  at  last  by  threats,  he  yields,  protest 
ing  his  own  innocence.  Then  the  Jews  utter  their  memorable  execration, 
which  has  been  fulfilled  to  the  very  letter. 

They  crucified  the  Lord,  and  they  themselves  have  been  crucified  in  prodigious 
numbers— judgment  after  judgment  has  come  upon  them — and  they  are  still  a 
byword  to  the  world.  How  tremendous  the  accomplishment  of  their  own  rash 
imprecation. 


CANTO  V. 


ARGUMENT. 

Reflections  on  the  sun  of  nature.  Jesus  present  in  the  hall  of  the  Praetorium.  The 
populace  maltreat  him.  His  love  for  man.  Reflections  upon  the  fall  of  the  first  Adam. 
Return  of  Satan  to  the  land  of  eternal  darkness.  He  arouses  his  fellows.  They  pass  on 
before  him  to  earth,  the  scene  of  the  Drama  of  Redemption.  He  follows,  and  alights 
him  near  the  hill  of  Calvary.  Reflections. 


CANTO   V. 


A  moment  Pilate  mus'd  irresolute, 
Still  purposing  to  set  Messiah  free ; 
When  with  loud  uproar  came  the  savage  yell. 
Set  Jesus  free,  and  by  Jerusalem, 
Great  Caesar  hears  of  it.     The  ruler  yields. 
The  Sun  of  Nature,  then  unconsciously, 
His  rays  of  brilliancy  sheds  forth, 
T'illumine  Pilate's  hall.     Thou  lord  of  day ! 
Who  com'st  rejoicingly,  to  run  thy  race 
In  heaven,  and  render  man's  heart  glad, 
And  birds  delighted  at  thy  fond  approach — 
Thou  who  deck'st  beau-teously  the  flowers ; 
With  golden  splendour,  tipping  too  the  spires, 
All  heavenward  pointing — now  unwillingly 
Thou  climb'st  up  over  Salem's  hills,  to  light 
The  murderers  on  to  Calvary— the  scene 
Of  the  sad  tragedy,  wherein  the  worlds 
Afar  and  near,  inquiringly  behold 
The  Son  of  the  Almighty  die;  whose  arm 
Of  power  shall,  at  the  final  day,  stop  thee 
In  thy  career,  and  make  a  wreck  of  worlds. 
In  hall  Prsetorium,  lo  !  the  Mighty  stands, 
Who  bade  the  seas  be  pacified,  and  they 
Were  still.     Who  call'd  to  Chaos,  and  behold  ! 
He  heard,  and  into  order  sprang.     Again, 
Who  soon  shall  upward,  mid  cherubic  hosts. 
Quick  make  his  way  ;  with  hosts  cherubic  too, 


112  CHRISTIAD. 

Who  soon  shall  reappear,  and  over  dust 

Erect  his  fiery  throne;  with  small  and  great, 

With  poor  and  rich,  around  Him  to  be  judg'd — 

When  as  th'  Almighty  Husbandman  He  comes — 

And  instantly  at  his  command,  the  wheat 

Is  garner'd,  while  the  chaff  is  blown  afar, 

Into  the  fire  unquenchable.     Even  He, 

Clad  with  the  purple  robe  of  mockery, 

Now  stood  undauntedly.     His  face  not  pale 

With  fear — His  head  encircled  with  a  crown, 

Made  of  the  leaf  of  Nabka,  tree  which  grows 

In  wilds  of  Araby.     His  hand  a  reed 

Grasps  for  a  sceptre.     Vile  Insignia! 

0  city  of  Jerusalem  !  behold  ! 

Thy  Lord  led  as  a  lamb  to  slaughter.     Lo  \ 

Mid  obstreperous  cries  of  the  vile  mob, 

He  on  his  sacred  shoulder  bears  his  cross; 

Whereon,  adjudg'd  a  felon,  he  shall  die. 

Hail  !  Judah's  King!  shouts  the  infuriate  throng. 

And  from  his  hand  they  snatch  the  sceptre  reed. 

Wherewith  to  smite  his  head  of  royalty. 

Lo!  of  his  precious  life's  blood,  down  his  face 

The  ruddy  rills,  all  plentifully  flow; 

Serenely  pale,  his  countenance  divine^** 

Serenely  pale  for  man,  his  enemy. 

Right  onward  now  the  mad  procession  pass'd — • 

And  finally  drew  nigh  to  Calvary. 

Mysterious  charnel  house  for  Salem's  dead, 

Presently,  the  death  scene  of  the  Crucified. 

Messiah  crucified  without  the  gate. 

"Die  He  or  Justice  must."     God's  only  Son, 

Fit  satisfaction;  who  by  fix'd  decree; 

Became  ere  time  the  voluntary  victim — 

Willing  offering,  for  sinful  dying  men. 

And  certainly  'twas  not  foul  envy  of  the  Jews, 

To  whom  thou  cam'st;  nor  traitor's  avarice, 

Nor  sad  irresolution  of  a  judge; 

Mere  executioner  of  God's  decree  ; 

Consigned  thee  over  to  a  felon's  death — • 

It  was  thyself.     Freely  thou  gavest  thy  life  5 


CANTO  V.  113 

Divine  gratuity.     Man  saved  by  grace. 
Man  for  his  friend  may  die.     But  lo!  Who  made 
The  blue  expanse,  hanging  the  ball  of  earth 
On  nothing;  dies  on  the  accursed  tree 
For  man  his  enemy.     Unparallel'd, 
Great  mystery  of  love!  of  godliness! 
God  manifest  in  flesh.     And  prophet-like 
Of  old,  well  may  we  say;  if  God  again 
Should  windows  make  in  heaven,  can  this  thing  be  ? 
Impossibility — there's  none  with  God. 
Truly,  in  form  of  poor  humanity, 
Th'  Eternally  Begotten  lives  and  dies — 
And  this  thy  doing,  Adam !  child  of  dust ! 
Fallen  in  Eden  irrecoverably; 
Save  by  His  death,  who  made  thee.     Lucifer, 
Whom  pride  self-ruin'd  once,  when  he  the  third 
Of  heaven's  angelic  throngs  drew  after  him, 
By  tempting  ruin'd  thee.     But  thou  to  him 
Did'st  listen  willingly,  surrendering 
Thy  life  and  innocence.     In  righteousness, 
Carved  like  a  palace  fair,  and  knowledge  too, 
In  Eden  thou  didst  live  all  pleasantly ; 
When  stealthily  came  the  rude  spoiler  there, 
To  strip  thee  villanously  of  thine  all — 
Thy  crown — thy  life — thy  innocence — And  thus 
Went  on  the  things  at  great  Jerusalem  ; 
When  the  Arch-felon,  chief  of  spirits  damn'd, 
To  realms  afar  back  hied  him  hastily. 
Anxiously  meanwhile  in  Pandemonium, 
The  royal  seat  of  hell's  dark  potentate  ; 
His  fellow-spirits  fallen  wait  report, 
Made  by  their  bold  commanders,  of  the  war 
Waged  'gainst  Emmanuel,  the  Highest's  Son. 
Coenemies  with  me,  to  Him,  long  deem'd 
The  Mightiest !  once  more  I  bid  you  hail ! 
Hail !  all  ye  principalities  and  powers  ! 
Your  every  energy  rouse  up  for  war ; 
High  intellectual  energy! — that  now, 
By  some  device  ingenious,  we  may  yet, 
If  possible,  thwart  this  grand  enterprise 
8 


114  CHRISTIAD. 

Of  Him,  who  hath  adjudged  this  punishment 

To  us;  damnation — never-ending  dire. 

The  effort  of  the  Highest  be  to  save ; 

Ours  be  to  render  lost  the  souls  of  men. 

u  Be  like  to  gods  "  said  I  to  him,  who  once 

Had  his  abode  in  Eden.     He  aspired — 

And  by  aspiring  fell.     In  free-will  made, 

Most  perfectly,  to  stand  or  fall — behold  ! 

The  pristine  Adam  fell — and  with  him  too, 

All  his  posterity.     And  who  can  save, 

Or  pluck  them  from  the  poison'd  sea  of  death ; 

Unless  the  man  we  now  assail  ere  long 

Prove  a  more  potent  Saviour.     Should  he  be 

Son  of  the  Highest,  well  I  know  his  might. 

For  over  Heaven's  high  battlemented  wall, 

He  me  and  you  hurl'd  irrecoverably, 

To  rest  ourselves  for  ever  on  this  lake  of  fire, 

Which  rolls  its  sulphurous  billows  to  the  shore. 

And  since  across  yon  darksome  road,  which  leads 

Far  upward  unto  Terra's  sinful  ball, 

Where  now  is  acting  the  great  drama,  which 

Makes  us  act  our  part  conspicuous — no  case  I 

So  urgent  ever  knew,  or  equally 

Demanding  diligence;  should  we  desire 

To  shake  Heaven's  monarchy,  and  populate 

This  hopeless  den  of  shame  and  misery. 

To  others  be  it  to  inflame  the  souls 

Of  Salem's  populace,  that  they  may  not 

Fail  in  their  enterprise.     And  mine  alone, 

To  shake  his  faithfulness  upon  the  cross — 

Who  styles  himself  God's  Son.     Such  plan,  to  me 

Alone  is  feasible;  and  should  it  fail, 

To  no  one  blame  attaches,  save  to  me, 

Your  leader  Beelzebub,  and  he  alone 

Responsible.     Damn'd  spirits!  quickly  come, 

And  to  the  final  test,  your  latent  powers  bring. 

For  well  know  we  by  sad  experience, 

What  metal  He  is  made  of,  call'd  God's  Son: 

A  being  of  no  trivial  intellect. 

Delay  we  need  not.     Rather  haste 


CANTO  V.  115 

To  bring  to  its  completion  this  one  act, 

So  vital  to  Hell's  sovereignty.     Thus  spake 

Th'  Arch-felon  hurriedly.     Speedily, 

Forth  issuing  from  Hell's  mouth,  a  myriad 

Of  the  lost  onward  quickly  fly  to  obey 

Their  potentate's  behest;  whose  piercing  eye 

Observant,  views  them,  as  on  madden'd  wing 

They  strive  to  near  earth's  boundaries.     Himself 

Them  following  outstrips,  and  lights  him  on 

The  hill  of  Calvary — to  try  once  more 

If  he  cannot  prove  Jesus'  vanquisher. 

With  seven -fold  ire  now  rage  the  populace 

Of  Salem's  fated  city — feeling  thus 

The  entrance  of  the  visitants  from  hell — 

Which  imperceptibly  and  noiselessly 

Alight  them  on  the  multitude,  hard  by 

The  outer  gate  of  the  eventful  city. 

0  crucifixion!  death  more  horrible 

Man  finds  not     Thine  inventor,  who?  It  is 

The  exquisite  device  of  sinful  man. 

Such  instrument  of  torture  Acheron 

Nor  fallen  spirits  found.     Device  of  man. 

Who  on  dark  whirlwind  rides,  and  storm,  must  die 

A  servile  death  on  thee.     0  Salem !  weep. 

Benignity  ineffable — must  die. 

That  mighty  heart  that  near  Mount  Olivet, 

In  agony,  sweat  blood,  on  Calvary, 

To  the  last  dregs  must  drain  that  bitter  cup 

That  dare  not  pass  from  Him,  man's  Surety. 

That  heart,  whose  silver  chord  once  loos'd  made  earth 

To  her  deep  centre  tremble — and  the  sun 

In  heaven  afraid — that  heart  where  goodness  dwelt, 

The  pallid  archer  smites  on  Calvary. 

Thus  fell  the  beautiful,  0  Palestine! 

"  On  thy  high  places," — by  the  people  slain. 

Earth!  earth  !  refuse  to  drink  the  blood  of  God. 

Thou  shudderest — for  He,  who  made  thee  roll 

On  thy  predestined  circle— murder'd  dies. 


END  OF  CANTO  V. 


CANTO  V. 


NOTES. 

NOTE  1.—   • 

The  punishment  by  crucifixion  was  introduced  among  the  Jews  by  the  Ro 
mans.  It  is  one  of  the  most  excruciating  deaths  which  the  art  of  tormenting 
ever  devised.  The  one  doomed  to  this  awful  end  was  distended  on  a  cross — 
had  great  nails  driven  through  his  hands  and  feet,  those  exquisitely  tender 
parts  of  man's  wonderful  frame.  After  these  preliminaries,  the  machine  is  in 
serted  in  a  deep  hole,  dug  for  the  purpose.  The  consequence  of  this  is,  that 
there  is  a  convulsive  shock,  which  agitates  the  entire  frame  of  the  unfortunate 
criminal. 

NOTE  2.— 

Upon  Christ's  arrival  at  Calvary,  he  was  stripped  of  his  garments,  for  which 
the  soldiers  afterwards  cast  lots.  The  medicated  cup  was  offered  Him.  He 
was  fastened  to  the  cross — and  while  the  act  was  performing,  uttered  the  ever 
memorable  sentence,  "  Father!  forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what  they  do." 
Our  Saviour  endured  the  cross,  despising  the  shame.  The  cross  is  the  glory 
of  the  Christian.  His  motto, — I  wish  to  know  nothing,  save  Jesus  Christ  and 
him  crucified.  His  afflictions  are  crosses.  He  must  take  up  his  cross,  and 
follow  Him. 


CANTO    VI. 


ARGUMENT. 

Messiah,  Prince  of  Peace,  on  the  Cross. —  The  two  dying  felons. — The  petition  of  orx- 
granted  by  his  suffering  Saviour. — Reflections. — The  last  words  of  the  Saviour  of  men. — 
He  gives  up  the  ghost.— Some  of  the  wonderful  phenomena  which  transpired  at  the  time 
of  the  great  crucifixion. 


CANTO   VI. 


0  melancholy  goddess!  wake  and  sing! 
Sing  of  the  Lord  of  glory  crucified ! 
Weep,  0  Melpomene!  for  Salem  weep! 
Her  multitudes  shall  pass  away,  nor  voice 
Be  heard  in  her,  save  the  wild  eagle's  cry. 
The  Son  of  the  Most  High  hangs  on  the  cross ; 
And  on  each  side  of  Him  a  felon  dies. 
Deservedly  we  suffer,  says  the  one, 
Whom  grace  omnipotent  vouchsafes  to  make 
A  trophy  of  His  love.     Our  fellow  here, 
What  evil  hath  he  done?     A  lesson  learn 
From  this  poor  dying  penitent.     Ah  !  hark! 
"When  into  thine  own  kingdom  thou  hast  come, 
0  Lord!  remember  me."     Thine  answer,  Lord ! 
"This  day  assuredly,  thou  shalt  with  me 
Be  in  the  heavenly  paradise."     He  said — 
And  lo!  dark  night  o'erspreads  the  world. 
The  sun,  ashamed,  mantles  his  golden  face 
With  blackness.     Darkness  supernatural, 
To  nations  far  and  near,  proclaims  the  death 
And  sufferings  of  man's  Surety.     Certainly 
Great  contrast  to  that  brilliancy  the  star 
In  east  shot  forth,  to  notify  the  birth 
Of  the  infantile  God.     The  orb  of  day 
Now  shudders  at  man's  villany.     And  one 
Of  On's  great  city — city  of  the  Sun, 
Situate  afar  in  Egypt's  land — forbears 
Not  to  exclaim,  'tis  Nature's  God 
Which  suffers — or  assuredly  the  world 


122  CHRISTIAD. 

Is  into  ruin  tottering.     And  now. 

Hard  by,  observant,  Satan  waits  the  chance, 

For  fit  occasion,  to  assail  anew 

The  Lord  of  light.     Scarce  audibly,  he  thus 

With  cunning  words  began.     What  do  I  see? 

Does  He,  the  Highest's  Son,  upon  a  cross, 

Thus  felon-like  die  miserably?  were  I 

Of  origin  divine,  assuredly 

Before  this  multitude  of  Salem's  town, 

Who  had  thus  mock'd  me,  and  outrageously, 

I  should,  with  thunderbolts  of  vengeance,  prove 

Mine  own  divinity.     Why,  as  a  fool, 

Dost  thou  endure  this  horrid  ignominy? 

Wilt  thou  thus  patiently  pour  out  thy  soul 

For  man  thine  enemy?     'Tis  foolishness — 

And  who,  of  all  the  nations  numberless, 

Will  this  report  believe?  Christ  crucified — 

He  said — to  whom  Messiah  agonized, 

An  answer  deigns  not.     Sorrowful  he  cries — 

•"  Why  hath  my  God  forsaken  me?    I  thirst." 

Well  might'st  thou  say,  I  thirst.     Lo!  they  afford 

Thee  naught  but  vinegar.     A  bitter  draught. 

Who  made  the  swelling  deep  cannot  command 

One  drop  of  water  for  his  parched  tongue. 

A  draught  of  bitterness  they  grant  thee,  Lord ! 

Sad  consummation  of  thy  sorrows  all. 

Yet  hadst  thou,  Saviour,  not  drunk  to  the  dregs 

That  cup  of  bitterness — in  endless  wo, 

Yea,  in  that  pit  wherein  no  water  is — 

That  gulf  impassable  to  all  the  damn'd  — 

Man  must  have  dwelt  for  ever.     Dives-like, 

We  might  have  lifted  up  our  eyes,  to  one, 

Even  Abraham,  at  distance  seen,  and  cried, 

0  send  us  Lazarus!  to  cool  our  tongue 

With  but  one  drop  of  water.     Jesus  thirsts. 

Jn  agony  when  ready  to  expire, 

Behold!  he  cries — "  'Tis  finish'd" — bows  his  head, 

And  dies.     "  'Tis  finish'd," — comprehensive  words  ; 

Replete  with  mystic  consolation  to  man's  soul. 

•"'Tis  finish'd," — for  the  glorious  work  is  wrought. 


CANTO  VI.  123 

To  win  for  man  redemption — and  to  gain 
For  the  Achiever,  the  proud  diadem 
Of  many  starry  crowns.     His  purchased  right 
Of  mediatorial  sovereignty.     "  'Tis  done." 
Redemption  wrought.     Ye  sons  of  God,  rejoice. 
Angelic  throngs!  Ye  brighter  morning  stars, 
Rejoice  to  see  a  world  to  light  brought  forth; 
A  world  elect  forgiven.     Mightier  work 
Than  that,  at  sight  whereof,  the  morning  stars 
Once  shouted  joyfully.     The  Saviour  cried — 
"  'Tis  finished  "—for  Himself,  the  Lamb  of  God, 
Is  slain.     His  awful  agonies  are  o'er. 
St£rn  justice  satisfied;  and  sinner's  debt, 
For  ever  liquidated,  paid.     Once  more, 
«  'Tis  finish'd,"— and  Hell's  legions  utterly 
Are  vanquish'd — Beelzebub  and  devils  all, 
In  this  last  combat,  overthrown  and  slain. 
The  lawful  captive  free.     And  mercy  fair, 
For  ever  from  God's  living  fountain  flows, 
And  flows  to  never  fail.     The  Man  of  woes, 
The  Son  of  David,  has  been  crucified. 
With  voice  of  power,  the  dying  Just  One  cried, 
Demonstrative,  that  He  in  verity, 
Had  died  a  God.     Behold !  in  sympathy, 
The  reeling  world  now  shakes  convulsively. 
Affrighted  fears  to  drink  the  blood  of  God, 
Which  vile  assassins  shed  thus  recklessly, 
Yet  fain  would  ope  her  mouth,  as  once  of  old, 
To  swallow  up  Abiram's  company; 
Or  Koran's;  who  unhallow'd  fire,  to  God, 
In  their  unhallow'd  censers,  offer'd  wickedly. 
Subterraneous  rumblings  fright  the  ear. 
Dire  earthquake  shakes  the  near  and  far  off  lands. 
Proud  cities  totter.     And  the  angry  main, 
Like  hungry  lion  rous'd  from  sleep,  roars  loud 
And  furiously,  as  formerly  of  old, 
At  pristine  Adam's  fall.     Lo!  madly  he, 
All  troubled,  'gainst  the  earth  seeks  to  rebel- 
Striving  to  pass  the  sandy  barrier — 
Divine  partition  until  time  is  o'er. 


124  CHRISTIAD. 

'Gainst  him  the  earth — then  turbulently  he 

Again  runs  from  the  shore.     And  why  aghast 

The  mariner?     Rocks  his  crazed  vessel  now 

On  the  wild  waves.     Old  ocean  loudly  roars; 

And  no  premonitor.     Vesuvius, 

Mount  JEtna,  Hecla,  spout  their  fiery  wrath, 

Almighty  engin'ry.     Rends  Calvary — 

Riven  to  their  strong  foundations  are  the  hills — 

At  the  Almighty's  wrath.     Through  atmosphere. 

Pass  hurriedly  along  the  meteors  dire — 

Bow  down  the  forest  trees  in  agony — 

And  Bashan's  sturdy  oaks — and  cedars  high 

Which  crown  Mount  Lebanon — all  sorrowful 

Hang  low  their  mourning  heads.     Lo  !  He  is  slain 

Whose  lightning  tipped  arrow  pierces  them — 

Who  made  the  forests,  dies  on  Calvary. 

In  Palestine's  vast  solitudes,  erewhile 

So  still,  what  clangorous  noise!  horrific! 

Forest  tempest  wakes  terrifically ! 

Sublimely  rides  the  ruler  of  the  storm. 

Uptorn  the  cedars — cedars  tall — which  stood 

Like  sentinels  between  time  and  eternity. 

Th'  Eternal's  voice  rends  oak  and  sycamore — 

Which  vied  for  everlasting  sovereignty. 

Hurriedly  springs  from  his  hidden  lair, 

The  forest  king.     Wondering  he  grimly  stood, 

And  ask'd — who  thus  disturb'd  his  kingdom? 

Affrighted  fly  the  denizens  of  air, 

Or  tremulous,  or  fluttering,  hover  o'er 

Earth's  agitated  breast. — Lo!  dismal  night, 

Egyptian  gloom,  is  circumfused  around 

Ill-fated  Palestine.     Darkness  enwraps 

Like  funeral  pall  the  oriental  shores. 

Amazed  all  dwellers  in  far  distant  lands — 

Which  knew  not  Palestine.     Dark  night  by  day 

To  them  a  dread  premonitor  of  wo. 

The  expiatory  sacrifice  is  made — 

Attesting  nature  proves  her  ruler  God. 

END  OF  CANTO  VI. 


CANTO    VI. 


NOTES. 


NOTE  1.— 


In  the  preceding  Canto  the  author  has  endeavoured  to  portray  the  most  im 
portant  points  relative  to  the  Saviour's  crucifixion.  The  event  would  demand 
larger  powers  of  description  than  mortal  can  command,  to  do  it  adequate  jus 
tice.  Angels  wonder  and  pry  into  this  mighty  mystery  of  godliness. 

NOTE  2.— 

What  a  monument  of  mercy  is  the  penitent  thief!  "  Lord !  remember  me." 
What  a  beautiful  exclamation  from  the  mouth  of  the  awakened  believer! 
"  To-day  thou  shalt  be  with  me  in  paradise."  Christ  here  promises  him  feli 
city  to-day.  The  souls  of  the  faithful  are  removed  immediately  to  joy  and  hap 
piness,  which  are  at  God's  right  hand  for  evermore. 

NOTES.-.  "It  is  finished." 

There  is  a  peculiar  grandeur  in  these  words.  Their  comprehensiveness  ren 
ders  them  sublime.  They  were  uttered  by  the  same  voice  that  said,  in  equally 
magnificent  language,  "  Let  there  be  light."  The  cup  of  wrath  is  drunk.  The 
work  of  Redemption  is,  therefore,  perfected. 


CANTO    VII. 


ARGUMENT. 

The  palace  of  the  Roman  governor  overspread  with  gloom. — The  veil  of  the  Jewish  tem 
ple  rent  in  twain,  and  the  Holy  of  Holies  exposed  to  view. — The  dead  rise  out  of  their 
graves,  and  walk  the  streets  of  Jerusalem.— Reflections.— Mary  weeps  at  Messiah's 
tomb. — The  grave  guarded  by  Roman  sentinels. — The  Crucified  is  set  at  liberty  by  an 
angel  sent  from  heaven.— The  two  Maries  at  the  sepulchre.— The  angel  informs  them 
of  the  Saviour's  resurrection. 


CANTO  VII. 


Gloom  reigns  in  Pilate's  palace,  for  aghast 
He  sat,  like  him  who  anciently,  with  fear, 
Saw  written  on  the  wall,  the  mystic  words, 
By  hands  mysterious,  telling  of  his  fall. 
Great  consternation  overspreads  the  face 
Of  once  beloved  Jerusalem.     Hark!  now 
What  sound  of  voices  in  the  air.     Behold! 
Bright  armour  flashing  terribly!  Seraphim 
And  Cherubim  helmeted  with  fire,  seem  now 
Engaged  in  dire  embattlement.     Lo!  rent 
The  temple's  veil — to  expose  the  holiest  place 
To  eyes  unsanctified.     Another  sign — 
To  Judah's  populace      The  shrouded  dead 
Arise  from  their  damp  tenements,  to  walk 
The  Holy  City's  streets.     And  sages  too, 
And  prophets  so  divine,  whose  eye  shot  forth 
Its  fire  portentously.     Patriarchs  of  old 
Arise,  proofs  of  the  resurrection — proofs, 
That  nations  numberless  shall  rise, 
When  the  last  trump  proclaims — "Time  is  no  more/ 
Sad  is  the  Holy  City.     For  with  eye 
Unsanctified,  unholy  men  behold 
Jehovah's  dwelling-place.     Lo!  hastily 
The  One  who  had  for  ages  his  abode 
Between  the  Cherubim,  retires.     A  voice 
9 


130  CHRISTIAD. 

Like  thundertone,  reverberating  loud, 

"  ?Tis  time  that  we  go  hence." — Lo !  they  depart, 

In  terrible  array,  their  Leader's  car 

Of  fire.     Deserted  now  the  temple  stands, 

Erewhile  the  nation's  glory.     Wonderful 

God's  ways.     Such  prodigies  transpire,  to  show 

That  Jesus  died  a  God.     While  nature  mourns 

In  agony,  for  Him,  who  suffering,  died 

The  Lord  of  all.     Then  listen  to  the  words, 

Longinus,  Rome's  great  sentinel,  now  spake — 

Assuredly  this  is  the  Son  of  God. 

Why  then,  barbarian,  didst  thou  pierce  his  side? 

Whence  flow'd  that  bloody  water?     Certain  sign — 

The  rock  is  smitten,  and  a  fountain  flows — 

A  healing  fountain  flows  to  never  fail. 

With  the  cold  spear,  on  the  accursed  tree, ' 

Thy  shuddering  side,  Lord!  they  did  pierce.     Yet  thou, 

In  midst  of  all  thine  agonies,  in  death, 

Would'st  teach  man  to  forgive.    Lo!  comes  the  day — 

When  thou  as  God  shalt  reappear,  bright  fire 

Before  thee,  wasting  storms  encircling  Thee. 

Thy  awful  presence  makes  thy  piercers  flee, 

Or  call  on  rocks  to  cover  or  to  hide 

From  thy  all-withering  eye.     Well  hast  thou  said — 

Forgive!  forgive!  they  know  not  what  they  do. 

Now  strike  the  harp  of  sorrow!  for  entombed, 

The  Mighty  lies,  laid  in  the  hollow  rock, 

Where  he  of  Ramah  placed  Him,  his  own  grave. 

Hard  by  the  loved  One's  tomb,  o'ercome  with  grief, 

Stands  Mary  Magdalene.     But  sorrow  deep 

Had  left  its  impress  on  her  brow  of  beauty 

And  surpassing  loveliness.     Carelessly 

Her  golden  tresses  down  her  shoulder  hang, 

All  eloquent  with  love.     She  wails  her  Lord. 

Dark  cypress  overshadows  the  sad  spot, 

WThile  thus  all  lonely  wails  the  lovely  girl, 

Above  the  Saviour's  grave — whom  she  had  loved 

So  fondly,  as  to  wipe  His  feet  her  tears 

Had  laved,  with  her  own  hair.     Yet  Mary  weeps — 


CANTO  VII.  131 

While  slowly  purleth  by,  that  streamlet  dark, 

In  Olivet's  sad  vale.     There  softly  lie, 

Low  in  their  silent  damp  clay  tenements, 

The  sages  who  had  died  in  ages  past, 

And  bards  divine,  whose  eye  shot  forth  its  fire 

Prophetically.     There  proud  beauties  sleep; 

Sad  cypress-  and  the  willow  waving  still, 

All  sorrowfully  over  them.     And  there, 

Ensepulchred,  slept  Judah's  mighty  kings, 

The  psalmist  there — and  he,  the  beautiful 

And  wild,  hang'd  on  the  oak,  young  Absalom  ; 

Long  mourn'd  for  by  his  sire.     Romantic  spot! 

Here  Mary  Magdalene  bewails  her  Lord. 

While  at  the  tomb's  strong  rocky  portal  stand 

The  wakeful  pagan  sentinels.     All  still — 

Save  th'  armour  of  the  warriors — which  hollowly 

Clanks,  as  they  pace  obediently  their  round. 

And  great  Jerusalem  is  hush'd  in  sleep. 

Now  of  his  home,  far  distant  on  the  banks 

Of  yellow-rolling  Tiber,  as  it  lies 

'Mid  the  green  corn,  his  only  wealth,  yet  talks 

The  armed  sentinel;  or  of  events, 

Portentously  foreboding  to  the  land, 

Where  now  he  stands  guard  o'er  Divinity. 

Why  murmureth  tremblingly  the  breeze 

Through  palms  o'ershadowing  the  Mighty's  tomb? 

What  thunder  sound?  what  earthquake  shock?  beholdr 

'Tis  the  Almighty's  angel,  coming  down  to  free 

The  lawful  Captive.     Off  the  grave  he  rolls 

The  ponderous  door.     Then,  with  a  voice  of  power, 

Loud  as  the  trump,  which  tells  time  is  no  more — 

He  calls — and  lo !  the  Crucified  goes  forth. 

Dismay  quick  seizes  on  the  mail-clad  men. 

Longinus  fears.     Guards  faint — revive — and  then 

All  hurriedly  flee.     The  paling  stars 

Are  setting;  and  the  morn's  red  light  gleams  o'er 

Mount  Olivet,  that  scene  of  love.     There,  two 

Sad  fair  ones  hastily  repair,  to  seek 

Their  buried  Saviour.     And  nigh  the  grave  they  drew — 


132  CHRISTIAD. 

Till  stooping  low,  the  rocky  door  rolPd  off, 
They  saw  the  linen  vestments.     Also  there, 
The  snowy  napkin.     Their  Saviour,  where? 
None  answers,  save  the  angel  messenger. 
He  smiles. — The  Crucified,  alive,  is  risen. 


END  OF  CANTO  VII. 


CANTO    VII. 


NOTES. 

NOTE  1.— 

Joseph  of  Arimathea,  having  begged  the  body  of  Jesus,  deposited  it  in  his 
own  sepulchre.  It  was  a  cave  in  a  solid  rock.  For  better  security,  orders 
were  given  to  seal  the  stony  door.  A  guard  of  soldiers  was  also  stationed  at  the 
tomb,  by  orders  of  the  Governor.  While  they  are  on  their  watch,  an  angel  de 
scends,  and  rolls  away  the  door.  "  His  countenance  was  like  lightning,  and 
his  raiment  white  as  snow.  And  for  fear  of  him,  the  keepers  did  shake,  and 
became  as  dead  men." 

NOTE  2.— 

The  beauty  and  tenderness  of  Mary  Magdalene  are  shown  in  the  preceding 
poem.  Why  weepest  thou  1  said  her  Lord.  She  displayed  her  love  by  pro 
portionable  sorrow.  Out  of  Mary,  Messiah  had  cast  seven  devils.  He  never 
upbraided  the  weeping  mourner.  He  checked  her  sorrows  in  their  flow. 


CANTO   VIII. 


ARGUMENT. 

Apostrophe  to  the  Great  King  of  Terrors. — His  subjects.— The  King  of  Babylonia  in  his 
principalities.— Vision  of  Death  and  Sin.— They  appear  in  converse  upon  the  sepulchral 
hills. — Apostrophe  to  Death. — Nature  of  his  realms. — Number  of  his  subjects. 


CANTO  VIII. 


How  pleasant  is  thy  summons,  Death!  to  him 
Of  many  sorrows.     Thy  principalities, 
Though  darksome,  open'd  to  his  eager  view, 
End  but  his  toilsome  journey.     Truly  here, 
Together  peacefully,  the  prisoners 
Enjoy  repose.     And  here  the  weary  soul 
Is  at  his  rest.     And  no  contention,  who 
Shall  sit  the  uppermost.     The  servant  here, 
With  his  proud  master,  and  the  little  babe 
Lies  down  beside  the  man  of  years.     And  lo! 
Upon  his  dusty  bed,  lies  he  of  old, 
Who  said,  Is  not  this  mighty  Babylon, 
That  I  have  built  by  mine  own  power, — and  for 
The  honour  of  my  majesty?     Yet  worms 
Now  cover  him.     Though  at  his  coming  down 
All  hell  was  in  commotion  ;  potentates , 
From  off  their  dusty  beds,  to  hail  their  king, 
Upstarting  hastily.     Lo!  sovereign  Death 
Knows  no  distinction  here.     All  are  alike 
To  him,  who  for  a  little  season,  held  the 
God  of  battles  prisoner.     And  lo! 
On  the  sepulchral  hills  I  stood.     When  now 
With  levin-speed  flew  by  his  pallid  horse, 
With  him  his  pallid  rider.     Hastily 
He  stopp'd.     And  suddenly  uprose  a  form, 
Ineffable  for  ugliness.     JTwas  Sin. 
Inscrutable  her  origin.     Yet  here, 


38  CHRISTIAD. 

She  made  of  old  her  woful  advent — here 

Most  faithfully  hath  she  her  task  achieved, 

To  make  humanity  weep  tears  of  blood. 

All  hurriedly  spoke  Sin  to  the  pale  king, 

As  he  a  moment  stopp'd, — her  iron  voice, 

Reverberating  loud,  along  the  wild  grave  hills, 

As  far  below  in  death's  dark  shadowy  vale. 

Obedient  to  my  call  thou  comest,  Death! 

Thou  art  my  earliest  offspring.     No  delay. 

To  me  and  you  time  is  all  precious.     Haste! 

Our  reign,  half  o'er,  demands  it.     Every  where, 

Let  thy  unerring  archers  recklessly 

Send  forth  envenom'd  shafts.     The  aged,  young, 

The  beautiful,  the  gay  lay  low.     For  time 

Permits  no  dallying.     Should  time  be  o'er, 

Where  then  would  be  our  sovereignty?  no  more. 

The  final  consummation  shall  take  place; 

And  lo!  the  rod  of  empire  then  departs 

From  out  our  hands  for  ever.     Far  below, 

Where  darkest  night  for  ever  sits  enthroned, 

We  take  our  final  residence.     Behold! 

Thy  monarchy,  and  Satan's,  mine,  then  o'er, 

Fall  utterly,  as  irrecoverably. 

While  reign  we  can,  let  nations  far  and  near, 

Our  mighty  powers  feel.     Yea,  in  great  heaps, 

Upon  their  clammy  beds,  the  aged,  young, 

The  fearful,  brave,  the  beautiful,  the  rich, 

The  poor  must  fall — and  fires  sepulchral  still 

Shall  every  where  be  lighted  up,  till  comes 

The  great  Avenger.     At  his  awful  tread 

The  universe  gives  way.     He  comes  as  Judge. 

Then  in  her  funeral  fire,  this  sinful  ball, 

With  ocean,  sea,  and  land  sink  down.     Then  we, 

And  Time,  and  all  things  visible — no  more — 

She  said. — When  on  his  swift-wing'd  steed,  flew  Death, 

His  arrows  fiercely  scattering.     All  must  die. 

How  oft,  0  death!  triumphal  horrid  king! 

Have  I  long'd  for  thy  coming.     But  in  vain. 

Thy  pallid  steed-drawn  chariot  stay'd;  elsewhere 

Careering  with  ensanguined  wheels,  to  find 


CANTO  VIII.  139 

More  precious  booty.     Such  a  prey,  to  thee 

Seem'd  despicable.     Pensively  I  mused, 

The  bird  of  night  hooting  her  dirge  around  me, 

Life  yet  more  sad.     To  Him  aloud  I  cried, 

Upon  whose  forehead  sat  the  thorny  crown 

Which  vile  assassins  wove.     Who  by  his  death 

Upon  the  tree  pour'd  out  the  life-blood  of  a  God — 

Price  of  our  great  redemption.     Peaceable 

Thy  realms  and  still,  because  the  dead  are  there. 

When  shudders  my  sad  heart,  and  my  lips  pale 

At  thought  of  thy  sharp  sting,  the  shroud,  the  pall, 

The  damp,  the  narrow  home,  comes  there  a  voice, 

"  I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life. 

Whoso  believes  in  me,  though  dead,  shall  live." 

The  quiet  dead  are  there.     Thou  liest  down 

With  patriarchs  of  old.     With  kings — with  wise 

And  good — with  fair — with  sages  of  the  past. 

Earth's  mighty  womb  ensepulchres  us  all. 

We,  who  now  tread  earth's  melancholy  stage, 

Are  but  a  handful  to  the  nations  of  the  dead, 

Who  slumber  there.     What  spot  of  this  great  glohe 

Holds  not  the  dust  of  buried  men?    Ah!  then, 

Fear  not  what  is  the  destiny  of  all. 

To  all,  'tis  due  to  die.     All  men  shall  come, 

And  make  their  bed  with  thee.     There,  one  by  one, 

The  man — the  babe — the  gray-hair'd  sire — the  boy — 

The  matron,  and  the  blooming  maid,  shall  be 

Unto  thy  side  soon  gathered.     Gone  forth  now 

The  summons,  "  dust  thou  art,  and  unto  dust, 

0  sons  of  men!  shall -ye  return."     Behold! 

The  tomb's  dark  pall  wraps  lordling  and  his  slave. 

Earth  has  her  hosts.     But  here,  a  caravan 

Of  millions,  constantly  fast  pressing  through 

The  adamantine  portals — mortal  tides 

Flowing  continuously.     0  sea!  thy  waves 

Roll  proudly  over  dead  men's  cities.     Yet 

Comes  the  great  Reclaimer.     He  calls,  and  lo! 

The  earth,  the  sea,  then  render  up  their  dead. 


END  OF  CANTO  VIII. 


CANTO  IX. 


ARGUMENT. 

The  return  of  the  Grand  Adversary  to  the  land  of  everlasting  night. — He  relates  his  want 
of  success  in  tempting  the  Son  of  God.— Moloch,  in  a  speech,  replies  to  Satan. — The  re 
ply  of  another  of  the  fallen. — Satan  replies,  and  afterwards  orders  the  fallen  spirits  to  the 
eternal  hills  of  darkness. — The  sea  of  fire  rages. — A  revolt  is  reported  in  Satan's  mo 
narchy. — Satan  calls  to  the  Sea  of  Fire,  and  fire-demons  rise  up  out  of  it,  to  quell  the 
insurrection.— Battle  in  hell 


CANTO  IX. 


The  Son  of  the  Most  High  had  just  expired, 

And  nature,  far  and  near,  proclaims  Him  God, 

When  Satan,  prince  of  spirits  fallen,  flees, 

Abash'd,  to  regions  where  eternal  night 

And  wo  unutterable  ever  reigns. 

Full  oft  his  spirits  sink,  and  oft  he  cries 

In  anguish,  that  he  must  once  more  return 

With  tidings  of  his  fall.     And  long  to  him, 

And  tiresome  is  the  devious  road,  across 

The  darksome  gulf  of  vacancy,  which  now 

Divides  his  seat  from  Salem's  capital. 

Satan  arrived — then  to  his  fellows,  he 

With  darksome  brow  of  hate  began. 

Associates  of  sad  miseries!  once  more 

Returns  your  sovereign  king,  that  he  may  tell 

What,  long  ere  this,  we  well  might  have  foreseen, 

Would  be  sad  issue  of  our  enterprise. 

Undoubtedly,  Messiah  stands  approved, 

The  Highest's  Son,     What  shall  I  then  say  more? 

For  what,  or  bad  or  good,  done  by  us  here, 

I  made  myself  responsible;  since  last 

Across  yon  horrid  gulf  of  vacancy, 

I  bade  you  speed  to  yonder  little  star, 

Where  fell  the  pristine  Adam.     Also  where 

The  great  Restorer  died.     Assuredly, 

Device  of  every  sort,  most  artfully, 

Each  one  of  us  hath  tried,  to  shake  His  faith, 


144  CHRISTIAD. 

Who  hath  proved  vanquisher.     Foil'd,  therefore,  we, 

For  ever.     Or  if  success  attend  us, 

Found  it  must  be  in  some  more  distant  worlds, 

Which  people  yonder  wilds  of  vacancy; 

Whither  no  tidings  yet  have  come,  of  what 

Has  just  transpired  at  Salem's  capiatl. 

Where  too,  'tis  probable,  there  now  exist — 

As  on  the  globe  of  earth,  there  floating  by, 

With  her  one  satellite,  where  fell  the  man, 

By  me  in  Eden  tempted — some  other  men, 

Whom  we  may  be  so  happy  once  again 

To  render  miserable;  and  whose  fall, 

Some  other  second  Adam  may  atone  for, 

Hang'd  on  some  other  Calvary.     He  said — 

And  all  stood  silent  and  amazed — such  speech, 

So  new — so  singular,  fell  from  the  lips, 

Of  him,  erewhile  their  confident  ambassador. 

A  spirit  of  more  noble  mien  at  last 

Arose. — Some  styled  him  Moloch — king — since  he 

Surpassed  in  stature,  and  in  excellence 

Of  part  his  fellows — and  exhibited 

Naught  else,  save  gentleness  in  intercourse, 

And  mildness  of  demeanour.     He  arose, 

And  answering,  thus  began.     Satan,  mighty  king! 

To  whom,  when  met  in  conclave,  we  did  swear 

Sad  fealty.     That  I  should  rise  to  speak, 

In  crisis  terrible,  to  you  may  seem 

Presumption.     Be  it  so.     Yet  do  I  speak; 

None  other  willing  to  arise,  but  all 

Of  hell's  inhabitants  amazed — struck  dumb, 

Dumb  with  astonishment,  at  what  I  too, 

Full  well  foresaw,  would  certainly  bring  down 

Wrath  yet  more  terrible.     Hark!  fellows!  hark! 

To  noise  of  yon  mad  sea  of  fire,  which  boils 

Tempestuously.     Th'  Almighty's  ire  again 

Burns  tenfold  hot  against  us.     Awfully 

Yon  fiery  mountain  billows  roll — to  tell 

That  greater  wrath  is  kept,  and  greater  pain, 

Still  in  reversion  for  us.     Therefore,  now, 

Do  I  decline  to  stir  up  greater  ire, 


CANTO  IX.  145 

Of  Him,  who  hath  already  shown  on  us 
Omnific  power.     And  I  assuredly 
Now  feel  what  we  have  lost,  by  formerly 
Retiring  to  the  hills,  where  we  did  hatch 
That  plot  which  did  self-ruin  us.     And  true, 
Most  true,  he  damn'd  us — justly  damn'd  us— 
When  we,  the  third  of  stars  of  morning  call'd, 
So  shamefully  rebell'd  against  the  One 
Who  with  exceeding  goodliness  created  us. 
'Tis  hell  enough,  that  we  no  prospect  see 
Of  ever  finding  egress  to  a  world 
Wherein  dwell  happiness,  and  peace,  and  light — 
That  light  which  oft  so  gladden'd  us,  as  we 
Sat  on  the  everlasting  hills,  outside 
The  massive  crystal  wall,  encompassing 
The  Highest's  Holy  City.     Hell  enough, 
To  be  for  ever  hidden  from  the  scenes 
Of  pleasure  and  delight,  enjoy'd  of  old 
At  his  right  hand.     Then,  fearlessly,  I  do 
Aver,  that  I  regret  full  oft,  indeed, 
Exceedingly,  opposing  God,  whose  Son, 
With  thunderbolts  of  flaming  vengeance,  drove 
Us  o'er  yon  lofty  battlemented  wall, 
Hurling  us  headlong  into  this  deep  den 
Of  everlasting  misery,  to  rest, 
For  ever,  on  that  lake  of  fire.     Forbear, 
I  say,  incensing  Him,  who  may,  incensed, 
Inflict  a  tenfold  punishment — contrived 
By  his  omniscience.     For,  assuredly, 
Already  have  we  had  our  fill  of  wo — 
Wo  yet  to  come — yea  come  again,  again, 
Again  for  ever.     Certainly  to  thee, 
Who  by  fair  speech  seduced  us  cunningly, 
Each  fallen  spirit  owes  his  misery. 
And  than  our  state — what  is  more  miserable? 
Abaddon  now,  who  stood  the  next  in  might 
And  daring  unto  him,  who  rightfully 
Held  rule  o'er  all  the  spirits  of  th'  unblest  abode— 
With  words  of  consolation  thus  replies: 
0  Moloch!  princely  partner  of  our  woes! 
10 


146  CHRISTIAD. 

Thou  spirit  of  surpassing  gentleness! 
Then  nerve  thy  soul  to  bear  his  wrathful  ire, 
Who  hath  thus  riveted  our  chains,  that  we 
Must  lie  for  ever  bound  by  yonder  sea 
Of  fire,  and  vapours  sulphurous.     Yea,  learn 
Patiently  to  bear  the  wo,  ye  well  must  know 
Is  irremediable.     Wherefore,  then, 
Does  Moloch  seem  so  alter'd?  I  on  him, 
Would  gaze  with  earnestness — for  sure — 
.Wild  is  his  proud-like  eye — and  his  fair  form, 
How  wasted.     Painful  even  here  to  see 
Our  fellow  Moloch  mourning.     Satan  then — 
What  Moloch,  princeliest  of  us  damn'd  ones, 
In  sincerity  thus  speaks,  offends  not. 
Yet  cannot  I — nor  will  not  mind  to  do 
Such  pleasure  to  our  sovereign  foe,  as  thus 
Sit  still,  and  ne'er  oppose  his  sovereignty. 
By  yon  eternal  sea!  and  by  yon  heaven! 
Whence  we  are  cast  for  ever  here  to  dwell, 
In  want  and  wretchedness;  and  by  the  lost! 
I  swear,  no  homage  will  I  now,  or  e'er 
To  God  Emmanuel  render;  pains  and  wo, 
And  wrath  oppressing  me,  as  those  erewhile 
Led  by  me,  from  allegiance  unto  Him, 
Who  of  his  sovereign  will,  made  man  to  fill 
The  vacancy  created  by  our  fall. 
But  now  the  reddening  surges  of  yon  lake 
Tempestuous  and  wild,  bid  us  retire 
To  parts  more  tolerable  of  our  abode. 
Then  go !  and  on  the  dark  eternal  hills, 
A  momentary  respite  take,  that  ye, 
With  tenfold  strength  and  ire,  may  be  prepared 
To  thwart  the  purposes  of  God  most  High, 
Who  even  here  would  be  our  constant  foe, 
Opposing  us  for  ever.     Spirits  go! 
Obedient  to  his  word,  the  gloomy  fiends 
Tumultuously  retire,  and  numerous 
As  swarms  of  locusts — which  in  Orient's  lands, 
Thick  congregated,  darken  all  the  air, 
Then  suddenly  alight  covering  the  plain. 


CANTO  IX.  147 

So  on  the  night-crown'd  hills,  the  souls  unblest, 

In  companies  sat  down. — And  thither,  he, 

Their  ruler,  follows  them.     On  the  dun  hills, 

In  converse  loud,  the  devils  sat.     While  far 

Below  th'  infernal  mounts  there  stood  a  vale, 

Dark,  shadowy,  wild.     Constantly  flit  by 

Affrighting  shapes — and  airy  phantoms  dire, 

Hurriedly.     As  in  dense  flocks  the  birds 

Of  passage,  winter  come,  flee  south  afar, 

On  nimble  wing  borne  onward.     Hastily, 

So  flit  along  the  shore  of  the  fire-sea, 

The  souls  of  unblest  men.     Lo!  here  Revenge, 

And  Jealousy,  and  Fear,  Celseno-like, 

Fly  to  and  fro — but  find  no  resting-place. 

In  darkness  too,  lamenting  Sorrow  sat, 

Veiling  her  blood-shot  eyes,  and  weeping  loud, 

With  an  eternal  anguish.     Horror,  too, 

With  aspect  frightful  to  behold,  with  eye 

Glassy  as  death,  her  doomful  sceptre  sways — 

Eternal  vigil  keeping  o'er  the  lost. 

Which  ever  and  anon,  unearthly  gaze 

Aloft  with  mad  disquietude,  at  wo 

To  come — and  come  again  for  evermore. 

Densely  the  sombrous  sky  above  is  spread, 

Like  funeral  pall  o'er  some  vast  ruin'd  world. 

And  lo!  below,  Cerberian  ban-dogs  howl, 

Kennell'd  in  fire— the  guards  of  Erebus — 

Besides  enormous  creatures  everywhere, 

Like  forests'  grim  inhabitants.     But  more, 

Yea,  sevenfold  more,  excel  in  magnitude 

And  horror,  monsters  roam  at  large,  whose  eyes 

Like  fire-balls,  glare  terrifically  wild — 

And  mammoth-like  their  ponderous  crescent  tusks, 

They  high  uprear  above  the  mist-clad  hills. 

And  serpent-like,  the  huge  Leviathan 

Plays  with  his  monstrous  folds,  which  might  almost 

For  longitude  gird  round  the  moon.     Lo!  here 

Mastodons  vast,  and  Saurians  dire,  whereof 

Geologists  relate  things  terrible. 

With  wild  rapidity  they  drag  their  length, 


148  CHRISTIAD. 

And  three  score  feet,  not  measuring  them. 

Such  are  th'  infernal  animals,  on  earth, 

Which  now  have  not  their  dwelling-place.     Though  down 

In  her  old  stratified  remains,  are  found 

Their  counterparts — vast,  longitudinous, 

Amazing  skeletons.     There  on  the  dun, 

Eternal  darksome  hills,  th'  Arch-felon  sat, 

In  sternness  musing.     Lesser  spirits  lost, 

Sat  also  thoughtful,  and  all  sad.     When  lo! 

A  figure  onward  came — with  stately  brow 

And  look  of  royalty.     Then  quickly  up, 

King  Beelzebub  in  fury  eyes  him.     Ho! 

Who  is  he  with  footsteps  rash,  approaching  now 

The  monarch  of  the  fallen?  who  art  thou  ? 

To  whom  the  pilgrim  form  made  this  reply — 

I,  Uriel,  dweller  in  the  sun,  am  sent 

By  Him  who  rules  on  high,  to  bear  his  will 

To  thee,  0  Satan!  prince  of  these  unblest 

Dark  principalities  of  wo.     I  come, 

0  spirit  fallen  irrecoverably! 

To  hold  no  controversy.     Time  to  me, 

All  precious.     From  yonder  central  light,  which, 

Self-illumined,  bestows  its  treasure  on  the  earth, 

1  come  ambassador  to  thee.     Sent  too, 

I  said  before,  by  Him  who  rules  in  heaven — 

Emmanuel — king  Jesus — God-man —  • 

Two  natures  yet  distinct  for  evermore. 

I  therefore  do  proclaim  officially, 

Thy  reign  of  terror  o'er.     In  chains,  henceforth, 

For  ever,  thou  shalt  go — and  circumscribed 

Thy  limits  of  dire  sovereignty.     On  earth 

No  more  shalt  thou  be  terrible.     Thy  throne 

Is  fallen — fallen  irrecoverably 

For  ever.     Then  to  no  world  so  fair,  shall 

Seed  of  discord  be  convey'd  by  art,  or 

Wile  of  thine.     Fix'd — for  ever  fix'cl  be  thou, 

And  all  thy  hosts,  upon  yon  lake  of  fire. 

Thy  doom  Emmanuel  irreversibly 

Hath  thus  decreed.     Thus  far  then,  henceforth  thou 

Mayst  go,  and  go  no  farther.     Hastily, 


CANTO  IX.  149 

Thus  having  said,  the  angel  Uriel  flew 

To  his  bright  principality  the  sun — 

Position  given  him,  when  the  morning  stars 

All  sang  in  unison  the  glorious  strain, 

"  Thy  hand,  Jehovah,  how  divine !"    He  gone — 

All  sullen  sat  hell's  mighty  potentate, 

Nor  answer  dared  return.     Now  speedily 

A  fiery  spirit  fallen  makes  report, 

Of  dire  commotion,  and  revolt  afar 

In  Satan's  distant  monarchy, 

Where  viler  spirits  dwell.     Lo!  he  alarm'd, 

With  voice  like  to  ten  thousand  thunder-tones, 

Calls  to  the  fiery  deeps.     They  answer  him — 

Who  dwell  'mid  fiery  waves  of  the  great  sea 

Of  Pandemonium.     Instantaneously 

Uprising,  sprang  from  out  the  fiery  surge, 

Red  demons  numberless  and  fierce,  array 'd 

In  hell's  strong  panoply.     Then  rapidly 

Their  iron-war-cars  mounting,  press  they  on, 

By  red-wing'd  dragons  drawn.     So  they  fly, 

Far  in  the  distance,  scarce  discernible 

By  eye  of  their  grim  potentate.     On — on 

They  press  to  the  far  boundaries — which 

Mark  the  abode  of  lesser  spirits  fallen. 

Lo!  there  is  war  in  hell.     Such  mighty  strife 

As  would  beseem  for  Satan's  monarchies — 

With  adamantine  bows  in  their  strong  hands, 

Which  none  but  devils  knew  to  bend,  they  near 

The  confines  of  the  scene  of  mutiny. 

List  to  the  din  of  war  in  hell!  and  hark! 

Not  to  the  clarion's  brazen  note — nor  bray 

Of  the  loud  trumpet  calling  to  the  charge 

The  mustering  squadrons — hastily,  which  rush 

Impetuous  to  the  war.     Nor  to  the  stirring  call 

Of  the  loud  drum.     To  drum  and  trumpet's  note, 

Or  clarion's  call,  here  list  not.     Music  here — 

None  other  than  the  surge's  roar  of  sea 

Tumultuous — reverberating  loud 

O'er  the  dun  hills,  is  the  inviting  call 

To  dire  embattlement.     Lo !  hastily 


150  CHRTSTIAD. 

They  close  at  the  sharp  weapon's  point — and  rush  ' 

Impetuously  to  the  charge.     Black  clouds 

Of  dust,  and  fiery  vapour — vomited 

From  helms  of  fiery  seraphim — with  yells 

Of  madden'd  spirits — spoke  the  fight  begun. 

In  ridges  deep  arose  the  iron  spears, 

Quick  intermingling      Arrows  quickly  fly, 

Red  levin  tipping  them — and  numerous 

As  drops  of  mighty  thunder-storm.     They  war, 

In  scaly  adamantine  corslets  clad; 

Ethereal  tempered.     Fiery  helmets  too, 

Belch  forth  red  flames — and  like  by  stroke  of  Him, 

Who  rules  the  thunder  in  the  sky — his  shafts 

The  thunderbolts — on  the  dun  floor  of  Hell, 

Devil  by  devil's  arm,  laid  prostrate,  falls 

Reciprocally  struck.     The  lesser  yield 

But  momentarily.     They  rally,  charge, 

Distress  with  horror  arming  them.     Despair 

Their  visages  deep  marking;  onward  press, 

Like  whirlwind  dire,  the  cohorts  dense 

Of  Satan's  demon  armies,  sweeping  bands 

Of  mutineers  before  them.     They  once  more, 

Desperately  return,  like  torrent  damm'd, 

And  therefore  more  resistless.     Suddenly 

Changed  to  the  form  of  the  Red  Dragon  now, 

Th'  Arch-demon  rode  amain — his  archer  hosts 

All  following  him.     Fall  back  the  mutineers 

On  either  side,  while  all  unscathed  their  king 

Thus  hurriedly  pass'd  through  the  avenue 

The  lesser  spirits  made  by  the  withdrawal. 

Ceased  then  the  strife — for  who  can  now  resist 

The  fallen  Lucifer — next  to  the  King 

Of  kings,  in  might  and  intellect. 

The  rebels  yield  to  his  great  might,  who  did 

Erewhile  oppose  the  demon  bands — and  who 

Speedily,  as  their  foremost  ranks  are  down, 

Rise  hydra-like,  prolifically.     They 

In  numbers  now,  prolifically  rise, 

Increase  and  multiply.     They  dread  their  king, 

Whose  eye  would  quail  not.     Furiously  he  rode 


CANTO  IX.  151 

To  the  far  point  of  Hell's  dun  monarchy, 
Where  stood  a  rock  precipitous  and  vast, 
O'erhanging  the  great  sea — against  whose  base, 
The  fiery  breakers  roar  tumultuously. 
Into  the  mighty  rock,  he  cast  his  spear — 
Trembled  the  precipice — then  fell — and  roll'd 
All  clangorously  into  the  sea  of  flame — 
Stunning  the  ears  of  hell's  inhabiters — 
While  nether  Erebus  reverberating  roars — 
Echoes  the  hills — and  hell  returns  the  sound. 
And  now  th?  arch  Demon  hurriedly  began : 
The  fate  of  that  proud  rock  precipitous, 
Now  smitten  by  my  levin  spear — his  fate 
Who  dares  break  fealty  to  me  his  king, 
And  rightful  sovereign.     Preferable  far 
To  reign  in  hell — than  bear  the  servitude 
Of  heaven's  King.     Tranquillity  prevails, 
Where  was  great  mutiny.     For  to  the  hills 
Afar,  the  rebel  crew  all  terrified, 
Quick  hie  them.     Beelzebub  for  ever  reigns. 


END  OF  CANTO  IX. 


CANTO  IX. 


.    NOTES. 

NOTE  1.— 

The  imagery  of  this  canto  is,  of  course,  figurative.  The  author  does  not 
suppose  the  fire,  spoken  of  as  the  punishment  of  the  lost,  to  be  of  the  ma 
terial  order.  Their  worm,  however,  shall  never  die,  nor  shall  the  fire  of 
their  conscience  ever  be  quenched.  Tophet  is  ordained  of  old,  for  the 
king  it  is  prepared. 

NOTK  2.— 

There  would  seem  to  be  some  occasion  for  revolt,  when  Satan's  weak 
ness  became  manifest  to  his  fellows — at  his  last  failure  in  tempting  Mes 
siah.  The  character  of  Satan  is  portrayed  in  the  boldest  colours.  Every 
effort  has  been  made  to  preserve  propriety  of  character  throughout  the 
canto,  where  several  make  a  prominent  figure. 


CANTO  X. 


ARGUMENT. 

An  aged  prophetic  stranger  stands  upon  the  hill  of  Zion,  and  wofully  predicts  Jerusalem'* 
calamities. — The  siege  of  Jerusalem  by  the  Romans. — The  possession  of  it  by  the  Turks 
predicted.— Jerusalem's  sorrows. 


CANTO  X. 


'Twas  eve  in  Salem's  city,  and  the  voice 

Of  her  vast  multitude  is  still.     And  red, 

The  moon,  in  her  full  majesty,  mounts  up 

The  temple's  purple  battlements.     And  howls 

The  wind  on  Zion's  hill ;  while  thereon  stands 

An  aged  stranger,  prophet-like  of  wo. 

Wild  wave  his  white  locks  in  the  whistling  wind. 

As  he  his  right  hand  raises,  and  foretells 

Jerusalem's  calamities.     Wo!  wo! 

Wo  !  to  thee,  holy  city!  for  sad  wrath, 

Like  whirlwind,  shall  sweep  over  thee.     Thy  sin, 

With  iron  pen  engraven,  and  thy  shame, 

Shall  far  off  nations  see.     An  outcast  now. 

Hark  !  'tis  the  noise  of  warriors  I  hear  ; 

Destruction  bringing  thee.     A  voice  from  east — 

A  voice  from  west — a  voice  from  the  four  winds — 

Against  thee,  and  what  mighty  man  can  save; 

The  day  of  vengeance  coming.     Wo!  again. 

The  crescent  standard  haughtily  shall  wave 

Upon  thy  blood-stain'd  battlements.     Ah!  then, 

Let  every  hill  and  valley  tear  drops  shed, 

0  Palestine!     Thy  people,  once  beloved, 

Shall  wither  in  sad  chains.     And  hark!  once  more 

The  coming  blast  of  war.     And  now  I  see 

The  tigress-eye  of  Anarchy  on  thee  ; 

For  He  who- sorrowfully  walk'd  thy  streets 

Was  crucified  by  thee.     Who  mourn'd  and  wept, 

By  thee  has  cruelly  been  slain.     And  soon 


158  CHRISTIAD. 

Thou  shalt  become  a  sufferer.     On  tears 

Of  sorrow  thou  shalt  sup ;  and  dark,  ah  !  dark 

Thy  prospects  of  futurity  !     Yea,  dark 

The  day  of  wrath — -sad  wrath  awaiting  thee — 

Of  the  great  Crucified.     For  thou  didst  say 

His  blood  on  us  and  our  posterity. 

Weep  for  the  coming  ruin,  Salem!  weep. 

Weep  !  for  the  Lord  of  glory  crucified. 

0  Palestina's  land!    Thy  glory  where? 

And  thou  imperishable  Lebanon  ! 

Thy  multitudes  shall  pass  away,  nor  voice 

Be  heard  in  thee,  save  the  wild  eagle's  cry. 

Thy  forests,  valleys,  precipices  fall, 

How  beautiful,  fresh  as  from  nature's  hand. 

Mourn,  Lebanon!  for  Israel  shall  go  down 

From  thy  sweet  shadow — solitary  thou  ! 

And  on  thy  solitudes,  no  voice,  save  that 

The  tempest  wakes  terrifically, 

Or  wind's  sad  tone — voice  of  eternity. 


END  OF  CANTO  X. 


CANTO  XL 


A  R  G  U  M  E  N  T. 

The  disciples  on  their  way  to  the  little  village  of  Emmaus. — Their  discourse  with  Jesus, 
who  comes  up  to  them,  disguised  as  a  stranger. — Remarks  of  Cleophas.— Jesus  explains 
the  prophecies  respecting  the  Messiah.— Recognised,  he  disappears. 


CANTO  XI. 


The  Sun  of  righteousness  had  set,  but  soon 
To  issue  gloriously  from  out  the  tomb, 
Where  he  of  Ramah  laid  him.     Anciently, 
From  out  a  garden's  shade  went  sin  and  death; 
So  thence  too,  afterward,  went  forth  the  Word 
Which  spreads  afar  salvation,  banishing 
The  gloom  of  Adam's  fall.     And  from  the  shades 
Of  one  near  Olivet,  comes  forth  the  star 
Which  brings  light  and  salvation  to  a  world. 
The  sun  of  nature  had  in  glory  risen, 
To  usher  in  the  day,  which  gives  new  life 
To  fallen  men;  when  lo!  the  darksome  tomb 
Asunder  riven,  now  breaks  her  iron  bars 
To  set  the  lawful  captive  free,  whom  death. 
The  pale  destroying  archer,  had  laid  low, 
And  for  a  moment  held  his  prisoner — 
Sign  of  a  world  to  light  brought  forth ;  and  sign 
Of  a  world  forgiven.     'Twas  this  same  morn 
Whereon  the  Sun  of  righteousness  arose 
And  burst  in  brightest  glory  from  the  cloud, 
Which,  mantle-like,  death  had  cast  over  him  ; 
Great  Salem's  city  still,  and  fear  and  gloom 
Precluding  converse  on  the  past,  or  talk 
On  what  the  Jews  did  at  Jerusalem  ; 
That  two  dejected  followers  of  our  Lord 
Pass  on  to  Emmaus'  little  city; 
11 


162  CHRISTIAD. 

Disputing  on  the  way  respecting  things 

Miraculous,  done  at  Jerusalem, 

By  their  loved  Lord.     Whose  godlike  heart  erewhile, 

In  agony  sweat  drops  of  blood,  and  next 

Upon  Mount  Calvary,  to  the  last  dregs 

That  cup  exhausted,  for  man's  sin,  replete 

With  wrath  of  the  Most  High.     Whose  noble  heart 

Just  ceased  her  funeral  beating,  and  the  earth, 

To  her  far  centre,  shook,  all  tremblingly 

Convulsed.     In  sable  mantle,  too,  the  orb 

Of  day  hides  his  aright  countenance, 

Through  horror  of  man's  villany.     On  went 

The  fellow  travellers,  when  up  to  them, 

In  strange  habiliments,  there  comes  a  man 

Of  lordly  mien,  who  soon  inquiringly 

Thus  asks,  why  they  so  sorrowfully  talk 

In  warm  debate.     To  whom,  then  willingly, 

The  elder  Clebpas  replies, — Kind  friend! 

So  recently  art  thou  arrived,  as  not 

To  know  what  people  far  and  near  have  heard  ? 

And  to  thine  ears  have  not  the  tidings  come 

Of  tragical  event,  by  Jewish  hands 

Just  wrought  upon  mount  Calvary?     Of  him, 

The  prophet  wonderful,  hast  thou  not  heard, 

Whom  the  dread  Sanhedrim,  just  now,  gave  o'er 

To  villains  to  be  crucified?     'Tis  so. 

Upon  a  cross,  whom  we  once  hoped  to  find 

A  Saviour  to  all  Israel,  has  expired: 

And  now  three  days  are  over,  and  of  him 

Naught  know  we,  save  the  fact,  that  Jesus  now 

Is  no  where  visible  to  these  our  eyes; 

Report  though  women  make  that  He  to  them 

Appear'd,  the  risen  Crucified.     To  him 

Messiah  answers  knowingly.     My  friends! 

Should  Jesus  not  have  suffer'd  tins,  that  He 

Might  enter  gloriously  his  kingdom?     Yea, 

To  suffer  and  to  save  did  he  his  advent  make. 

Love  on  earth,  where  like  to  his?     God's  Son  dies 

Of  his  free  choice  for  man,  his  enemy. 

Doubt  then  no  more,  nor  question  this.     What  is, 


CANTO  XL  163 

Is  right.     Right  therefore  is  Christ  crucified, 

Though  Greek  may  deem  it  foolishness.     Ask  ye, 

Why  nature's  light  avails  not  to  guide  man 

To  his  Almighty  Maker?     'Tis  full  plain. 

A  gulf  is  fix'd  hetween  us  and  our  God; 

'Cross  which  our  sin-stain'd  reason  cannot  find 

A  passage.     No — not  though  it  extend  wide 

As  first  Adam's.     Its  utter  helplessness 

Appears  in  this.     She  never,  never  points 

To  that  bright  key  which  opes  the  palace  gate 

Of  an  eternity,  which  never  ends — 

Eternity,  dateless  and  fathomless, 

Whose  sole  inhabiter  is  God.     'Tis  true 

It  may  emit,  yea,  nature,  through  her  works, 

Most  audibly  emits  a  note  of  wo. 

But  never,  never  can  it  tell  a  word 

Of  Him  whose  name  alone  is  life,  to  lost, 

Undone  humanity.     And  so  once  more; 

Of  whom  then  think  ye,  is  it  said  by  him, 

Who  led  up  Israel,  "  Prophet  like  to  him 

Shall  God  raise  up?"     Yet  now,  no  prophet  like 

To  him  shall  God  raise  up,  save  one  alone, 

The  Antitype— Messiah — Christ  himself. 

Now,  by  comparison,  full  well  may  ye 

Perceive  this  Moses  to  be  typical 

Of  one  we  just  now  said  stood  antitype. 

The  former,  face  to  face,  conversed  with  God 

Familiarly.     Who  out  of  Egypt  came, 

Had  him  also  their  midsman.     So  your  Lord; 

An  Israelite  of  Abram's  family. 

No  man  hath  seen  the  Father,  save  the  Son 

Eternally  begotten — He  who  sits 

As  intercessor  for  humanity. 

Then  think  not,  as  the  heathen  do,  his  death 

Mere  foolishness.     Ask  ye?  Is  Shiloh  come? 

Undoubtedly.     For  Judah's  hands  have  lost 

The  sceptre  of  dominion.     Jesus  said — 

Then,  just  at  Emmaus'  little  village,  night 

With  her  sable  wings  o'ershadowing  them, 

They  recognise  their  Lord.     He  recognised, 


164  CHRISTIAD. 

Quick  vanishes  in  air.     They,  wondering,  cry — 

Stay  with  us,  our  Almighty  Saviour  Lord  ! 

They  call.     He  answer'd  not ;  they  stood  and  gazed, 

Where  upward  went  the  risen  Crucified, 

Who  should  once  more  return  to  gladden  them, 

And  give  his  last  command — "The  gospel  preach 

To  all  the  world."     It  given,  he  ascends 

From  Bethany's  fair  top,  to  come  no  more 

Till  His  loud  trump  arouse  the  slumbering  dead. 


END  OF  CANTO  XI. 


CANTO  XII. 


ARGUMENT. 

Invocation. — The  Almighty  Father  bids  his  angel  hosts  prepare  to  welcome  home  his  be 
loved  Son— Messiah's  high  Ovation. — The  heavenly  armies  wait  outside  the  battle 
ments  of  the  celestial  city.— They  receive  the  Son  from  his  earthly  convoy,  and 
clothe  him  with  the  royal  vestments. — He  enters  the  city  of  the  skies  riding  upon  the 
Great  White  Horse.— He  sits  down  on  his  throne  mediatorial.— He  sends  his  ministers 
to  proclaim  the  fact  of  the  finished  drama  of  redemption.— His  guardian  angels  are  sent 
to  earth.— One  of  the  youthful  sons  of  God  explains  to  another  the  mystery  of  redemp 
tion. 


CANTO  XII. 


Eternal  Spirit!  guide  my  soul  to  sing 

What  in  night  vision,  he  of  Babylon 

Once  saw;  when  he  beheld  one  like  the  Son, 

In  clouds  of  heaven  come,  and  stand  before 

The  one  of  days  the  Ancient — and  to  whom^ 

Was  given  dominion  everlasting.     Thou 

Too,  my  harp!  once  more  Messiah's  praises  sing. 

And  thou,  Urania!  eldest  of  the  nine, 

Fill  my  soul  with  elevated  fire.     Thou, 

Who  through  earth,  through  ether,  and  the  realms  afar, 

Still  rovest.     Unto  thee  I  look,  for  thou 

Canst  tell  what  did  transpire  in  globes  afar, 

When  news  of  Jesus  crucified  arrived; 

Brought  by  God's  angel  ministers,  sent  out 

From  the  Almighty's  throne.     Yea  thou,  0  Muse, 

Who  present  wert,  when  He  who  is  most  high, 

Call'd  out  to  Chaos,  rise!  And  Chaos  rose; 

And  planets  spun  from  out  her,  onward  too 

In  their  predestined  orbits  running,  while 

They  cheerfully  begin  the  glorious  strain. 

Thy  hand,  Jehovah!  how  divine.     She  sang. 

The^Lord  of  Glory  had  just  ended  now 

The  great  commission  which  his  Father  gave  him, 

And  had  said — "Go,  preach  the  gospel  to  the  world." 

And  on  fair  Bethany's  top,  sorrowful 

Around  him  his  disciples  stood,  no  more 


168  CHRISTIAD. 

To  view  his  heavenly  countenance — no  more 

To  hear  his  silvery  voice,  its  accents — Love — 

No  more  to  see  his  wondrous  miracles — 

Their  godlike  Master  going,  never  more 

To  visit  them  in  presence  bodily — 

When  thus  th'  eternal  Father,  to  his  hosts, 

His  throne  surrounding,  spake:    Angelic  throngs  ! 

The  angel  throngs  cast  down  their  crowns,  and  now 

Before  him,  with  their  wings  their  faces  veiling, 

Shout, — our  glorious  King!     From  everlasting  thou 

To  everlasting  gloriously  reign'st — 

Messiah's  welcomes  sing.     Go!  hail  my  Son, 

From  rebel  earth  returning  Conqueror. 

Full  speedily  now  ope  the  crystal  gates, 

And  joyous  welcomes  give  him.     Hastily, 

Obedient  to  his  word,  the  youthful  choirs  begin; 

Hosannahs  loudly  echo  through  the  streets 

Of  New  Jerusalem  above.     Her  gates 

Quick«opening,  to  the  plains  of  heaven  go  forth, 

The  white-apparell'd  armies  of  the  King; 

Their  snow-white  horses  riding.     One  leads  forth 

The  Great  White  Horse  of  the  Great  Crucified. 

Outside  the  heavenly  battlements,  now  wait 

The  shining  squadrons  of  the  sky,  to  hail 

Th'  arrival  of  Death's  Conqueror.     He  comes! 

Who  hath  redemption  wrought.     Inscrutable 

Thy  mysteries,  0  Mighty  King!     They  said — 

When  lo  !  Messiah's  sublunary  convoy 

Draws  nigh  the  walls  celestial.     Quick  advance 

From  out  th'  angelic  hosts,  three  nobler  ones; 

One  holds  the  Gospel  steed — another  holds 

The  royal  vestments,  and  a  third  uprears 

The  diadem  of  many  crowns,  wherewith 

To  decorate  his  head  of  royalty. 

Then  onward  Jesus  rideth  gloriously. 

Along  the  Heaven-illumined  road,  the  Lord 

Of  glory  rapidly  advances.     Lo! 

The  Holy's  City's  wall,  high-seated  now 

Upon  the  everlasting  hills  presents 

Her  beauteous  battlements.     On  every  side 


CANTO  XII.  169 

Of  her  four-square,  three  pearly  gales.     The  same 

By  three  archangels  guarded.     Radiantly 

The  golden  pavements  shine,  whereon,  in  robes 

Of  spotless  white,  the  ransom'd  ones  shall  walk 

For  ever  and  for  ever  with  the  Lamb. 

In  majesty,  the  Faithful  and  the  True 

His  royal  city  enters.     Heaven's  loud  choirs 

Their  thousand  times  ten  thousand  harps  then  strike 

Melodiously,  to  welcome  home  the  Son. 

Ride  on!  ride  on!  thou  glorious  King;  thou  Sun 

Of  Righteousness.     And  lift  ye  up  your  heads, 

Eternal  gates!    Ye  ever-during  doors! 

Be  lifted  up  to  welcome  in  your  King. 

The  cherub  hosts  throng  heaven's  high  road  to  see 

Christ  Jesus  riding  gloriously.     And  now 

The  Father  hails  his  own  beloved  Son, 

Approaching  near,  to  take  the  seat  assigned, 

From  all  eternity,  at  his  right  hand. 

Then,  with  the  thunder  of  th'  Almighty's  voice, 

In  majesty  he  speaks.     Now  worship  Him, 

Who  sits  at  my  right  hand.     Yea,  worship  Him, 

Ye  hosts  my  throne  surrounding.     Worship  Him, 

Who  made  all  worlds,  by  his  omnific  word; 

My  heir  appointed  of  all  things.     He  said. 

The  angel  hosts  again  fall  down  to  worship  Him, 

0  marvellous  thy  works,  thou  glorious  King! 

Salvation!  to  our  God,  and  to  the  Lamb! 

To  him,  the  Faithful  and  the  True,  our  God, 

The  Alpha,  Omega,  the  first,  the  last. 

They  spoke.     And  then  the  Son — "  Thy  will  on  earth, 

0  Father!  I  have  done;  and  now  must  reign 

Till  all  my  enemies  are  made  my  footstool. 

When  unto  thee  the  kingdom  I  resign, 

To  reign  for  ever  mediatorially." 

Upon  his  sapphire-colour'd  throne,  as  King 

Of  principalities  and  powers,  the  Lord 

Of  majesty,  Messiah  sat,  his  hosts 

Surrounding  Him;  angelic  ministers 

In  readiness  to  bear  to  worlds  afar 

His  wonderful  behests.     Ye  angel  throngs! 


170  CHRISTIAD. 

Now  says  th'  enthroned  one.     The  angel  throngs 

Cast  down  their  crowns  before  Him,  with  their  wings 

Their  faces  veiling;  while  they  shout ;  "  0  King! 

Eternal,  immortal,  invisible !" 

Then  silent  all  the  heavenly  choirs,  to  whom 

The  Opener  of  th'  eternal  counsel  speaks. 

Angelic  principalities  and  powers  ! 

Now  hearken.     For  the  darling  of  my  care  ; 

The  Church  of  God  ;  invisible  on  earth, 

But  here  for  ever  visible  to  all 

The  just  made  perfect,  and  to  all  the  saved; 

Is  purchased  by  my  blood  so  plenteously 

Pour'd  out  on  Calvary.     This  truth  proclaim, 

On  indefatigable  wings  far  borne ; 

To  th'  outmost  confines  of  my  monarchy, 

That  Zion  has  been  saved  by  Jesus'  blood  ; 

The  blood  of  the  eternally  begotten  Son, 

Of  th'  everlasting  Father,  the  I  Am  ; 

Inhabiter  of  an  eternity  ; 

The  never-ending,  ne'er  beginning  day 

Of  the  unchangeable,  Almighty  Lord. 

Proclaim  throughout  my  monarchy 

This  truth — the  mighty  Crucified.     To  earth, 

Then  speedily  now  fly,  ye  ministers, 

Who  bear  my  will  to  fallen  men.     Protect 

My  sons;  redemption's  purchase.     God's  decree 

From  all  eternity,  writ  in  the  books 

Of  his  eternal  counsels,  thus  declares. 

The  heavenly  ones  with  outspread  pinions  fly, 

And  hastily  speed  on  to  every  star 

That  populates  immensity.     To  earth 

The  Seraphim,  who  burn  with  love  to  man, 

Fast  speed  them,  to  preserve  the  church  of  God  ; 

On  earth  to  men  invisible — and  which 

Christ  Jesus  rules  for  ever  mediatorially. 

Long  on  his  throne  of  living  sapphire,  sat 

The  Prince  of  heaven  of  heavens.     And  rolling  still 

On  her  predestined  orbit  ran  the  earth ; 

And  time  yet  stood  on  his  proud  pedestal, 

When  lo  !  hard  by  the  holy  city's  wall, 


CANTO  XII.  171 

There  stood  two  of  the  youthful  sons  of  God, 

Conversing  long  on  mysteries,  which  deep, 

The  angels  will  pry  into  curiously. . 

And  in  their  talk,  spake  of  redemption's  depths, 

Which  seraphs  cannot  fathom.     Eagerly, 

One  of  the  two,  who  had  apparently 

Just  paid  a  visit  to  Christ's  capital; 

Questions  about  the  sad  event,  which  had 

Long  time  been  told  in  worlds  afar  and  near, 

Of  Jesus'  wide-spread  monarchy.     In  words, 

To  angels  all-significant,  his  friend 

Thus  answers:  Cheerfully  what  I  do  know 

To  thee,  angelic  brother,  I  relate; 

And  what  I  tell,  to  me  was  also  told 

By  them,  who  once,  sad  residents  on  earth. 

Stand  now,  clad  in  white  robes  of  innocence, 

"Before  Jehovah's  awful  throne" — where  songs 

Unceasingly  go  up  for  evermore, 

And  where  ten  thousand  times  ten  thousand  harps 

Make  known  redemption's  mysteries  to  all 

The  just  made  perfect.     Therefore,  I  relate — 

Long  ere  yon  world  of  earth  began  to  roll 

On  its  now  sinful  track,  this  mystery 

Was  talk'd  of  by  the  Three  in  One;  and  long 

Ere  time  died  in  th'  eternal  purpose,  He, 

The  sinless  Lamb;  th'  all-prescient  One, 

Foreknew  the  fall  of  heaven's  first  born,  who  once, 

All-joyous  sported  with  the  now  confirm'd, 

Upon  yon  waveless  glassy  sea.     And  God, 

From  all  eternity  all-wise,  had  wisely  plann'd 

A  being  who  should  fill  the  vacancy 

Created  by  their  fall.     Man  fallible, 

Would  also  freely  fall,  to  be  restored 

By  God's  own  Son,  on  earth  to  come  and  die 

In  an  assumed  humanity.     God-man, 

Two  natures  yet  unmix'd;  one  person  yet, 

And  that  Divine  for  ever.     Wherefore  so  ? 

Because  no  other  way  could  God  displeased, 

Be  reconciled,  strict  Justice  satisfied, 

And  man  be  saved.     Stern  Justice  cried — "  I  swear 


172  CHRISTIAD. 

Man  shall  not  see  my  rest  thus  sinful " — till 

Some  other  yield  a  righteousness,  which  may 

Give  title  to  a  hearing  of  the  plea 

Fair  Mercy  offers.     Therefore  died  the  Just 

For  th'  unjust;  long  ere  time  his  foot  had  set 

Upon  the  pedestal  of  years.     And  lo! 

In  his  own  fix'd  and  long  appointed  time, 

He  calls  to  Chaos,  rise!  and  she  arose, 

And  earth  spun  out  of  her,  fast  rolling  on 

In  her  predestined  circle;  soon  th7  abode 

Of  the  first  man,  then  nature  smiled,  but  he 

Smiles  not,  standing  in  solitary  grandeur, 

The  first  man,  till  one  uprose  before  him, 

His  own  counterpart,  the  beauteous  Eve, 

Who,  tempted  by  the  serpent,  tasted  of  the  fruit 

Forbidden,  and  with  her,  her  fond  spouse.     Both 

From  their  high  estate  suddenly  now  fall, 

And  with  them  their  forth-coming  sons.     And  time 

Roll'd  on,  till  came  the  great  Restorer.     Lo! 

The  night  was  moonless,  and  all  silently  their  watch 

Judea's  shepherds  kept;  their  fleecy  charge 

Around  them — and  the  azure  sky  thick-set 

With  stars.     Straight  towards  heaven,  their  wakeful  eyes 

The  shepherds  cast,  while  one  by  one  the  stars 

Steal  down  the  sky.     Then,  suddenly  a  light 

Celestial  breaks  around  them,  and  o'erspreads 

Judea's  vale.     With  heavenly  song  descends 

Th?  angelic  choir.     And  joyously,  the  air 

Bears  far  and  near,  but  tremblingly,  the  sweet 

And  golden  music — "  Glory  to  our  God, 

Peace  and  good-will  to  men."     Messiah  reigns. 


END  OF  CANTO  XII. 


CANTO  XII. 


NOTES. 

NOTE  1. —  "  The  white  apparell'd  armies  of  the  King, 

Their  snow-white  horses  riding." 

REV.  xix.  llj  14. 

•'And  I  saw  heaven  opened,  and  behold  a  white  horse;  and  He  that  sat 
upon  him  was  called  Faithful  and  True.  And  the  armies  of  heaven  fol 
lowed  him  upon  white  horses.*' 


ELLA; 


OR, 


THE  PRINCE  OF  GILEAD'S  VOW. 


A  DRAMATIC   POEM. 


TO 


J.  K.  MITCHELL,  M.  D., 


PROFESSOR  OF  THE  PRACTICE  OF  MEDICINE 


IN    JEFFERSON    MEDICAL    COLLEGE; 


ALSO   A  POET,  SCHOLAR,   AND   LOVER   OF   THE    MUSES 


IN  AMERICA; 


&*  a  ^Tribute  of 
THE   DRAMAS   AND  MINOR   POEMS 

OF    THIS    VOLUME 
ARE  RESPECTFULLY    DEDICATED 

BY  THE  AUTHOR. 


12 


ELLA; 


OR, 


THE  PEINCE  OF  GILEAD'S  VOW- 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 

JEPHTHA,  the  fugitive  Prince  of  Gilead. 

ELLA,  his  daughter. 

ADAH,  a  young  lady,  companion  to  Ella. 

EVA,  a  young  Jewess. 

Silent  friends  of  Ella. 

Shepherds. 

CIRCE,  enchantress  of  the  mountains. 

A  little  mountain  villager. 

Elders  of  Mizpeh. 

Messenger. 

Pagan  priestess. 

Persons  present  at  the  sacrifice. 


PRINCE  OF  GILEAD'S  VOW. 


ACT    I. 


SCENE  I. 

IT  is  the  morning  of  a  lovely  summer  day  in  Palestine  ;  and  the  golden  sun 
is  shedding  his  brilliant  rays  over  the  lofty  summits  of  the  purple-clad 
hills,  which  crowd  densely  upon  one  another,  like  waves  of  the  sea,  as 
they  lie  to  the  east  of  the  river  Jordan,  when  down  a  steep  and  rocky 
glen  leading  from  Mizpeh,  a  city  of  Ephraim,  there  rides  a  mysterious, 
but  princely  warrior.  The  reason  of  his  sudden  departure  is  unknown 
to  his  own  family,  as  also  to  the  inquisitive  inhabitants  of  this  moun 
tainous  district.  His  course,  however,  seems  to  be  southward ;  and  alone 
and  steadily  he  winds  his  onward  way,  about  the  foot  of  the  hills,  to 
his  mysterious  destination.  And  while  his  solitary  and  majestic  figure 
passes  down  the  heights,  the  rays  of  the  warm  sun  shine  refulgently 
from  his  polished  and  dazzling  armour.  A  coat  of  curiously  linked  mail, 
wjiich  by  its  flexible  nature  seems  to  cause  but'little  impediment  to  the 
wearer — a  helmet  of  brass — and  a  double-edged  falchion,  form  the  chief 
constituents  of  the  warrior's  panoply.  The  paraphernalia  of  his  noble 
black  charger  is  of  similar  character;  and  rejoicingly  he  prances  on 
beneath  his  weighty  burden.  Every  turn  and  movement  of  the  rider 
gives  indication  of  a  mind  inured  to  martial  service;  while  his  limbs 
seem  to  have  been  cast  in  a  mould  of  no  ordinary  strength.  His  whole; 
appearance  is  that  of  the  mighty  man  of  war.  Sober  thought  gives  ad 
ditional  sternness  to  his  visage,  and  fixed  resolve  seems  to  be  the  marked 
characteristic  of  his  sombre  spirit.  The  stranger  has  made  a  solemn 
vow  to  his  God,  and  he  considers  it  impossible  to  draw  back.  But  lo! 
the  portentous  shadow  of  the  coming  event  to  him,  as  he  looks  forward 
into  the  dim  mirror  of  futurity,  is  already  casting  itself  before — and  he 
plods  on  his  weary  and  unknown  way. 


182  ELLA.;    OR,  THE  PRINCE  OF  GILEAD's  VOW. 


SCENE  II. 

In  a  spacious  and  magnificent  apartment  of  a  marble  mansion  of  this  city 
of  the  mountains,  is  seated  a  youthful  lady  of  surpassing  beauty  and 
loveliness.  Around  her  is  a  group  of  inquiring  maidens  of  nearly  the 
same  age,  though  somewhat  inferior  to  her  in  beauty  and  personal  ap 
pearance.  Her  hair,  as  black  as  ebony,  hangs  in  massy  tresses  down  her 
alabaster  shoulders,  all  carelessly,  but  eloquent  with  love.  Her  attire  is 
of  the  finest  azure  silk  of  Persia — and  apparently  chained  around  her 
person  by  a  band  of  embroidered  flowers.  On  her  head  she  wears  a  cir 
clet  of  roses,  plaited  by  the  fair  hands  of  Eva,  one  of  her  youthful  com 
panions — and  who  now  stands  behind  her,  adjusting  the  same.  The 
floor  of  the  parlour,  like  most  of  the  apartments  of  oriental  princes,  is 
tesselated  with  marble  of  many  colours,  so  that,  when  the  sun  plays  in 
at  the  windows,  there  are  reflected  hues,  variegated  as  those  of  the  sum 
mer  rainbow.  On  couches  of  the  richest  purple  damask,  sit  Ella  and 
her  friends — unconscious  of  the  nature  of  the  visit  of  the  prince  to  the 
regions  of  the  south,  as  also  of  the  existence  of  the  vow,  reposing  as  a 
secret  in  his  breast.  The  lady  is  Ella,  the  only  and  devoted  daughter 
of  Jephtha,  the  fugitive  Prince  of  Gilead.  For  some  moments  after  his 
departure  silence  prevails  amid  the  little  circle — but  is  at  length  in 
terrupted  by  one  of  her  playful  friends,  named  Eva — 


EVA. 

Dear  Ella!  wherefore  is  it  that  the  prince 
Thus  suddenly  departed  ?     Is  there  war, 
Or  rumour  of  it,  prevalent  far  south, 
That  calls  him  thither? 

ELLA. 

Unaccountable, 

Indeed!  and  equally  unknown  to  me, 
His  motive  urging  him  to  secrecy. 
Warriors  are  ever  cautious  as  behooves, 
When  times  forebode  events  so  critical. 
One's  relatives,  you  know,  may  blab,  or  else  betray 
A  secret  inconsiderately  confided — 
However,  I  advise,  that  we  now  turn 
Our  thoughts  to  matters  more  congenial. 


ACT  I. — SCENE  II.  183 

ADAH. 

Woman  should  rather  talk  of  love.     For  love 

Was  woman  form'd.     Then,  let  her  thoughts  be  found 

Where  lies  the  strength  of  her  affections.     True — 

It  oftentimes,  perchance,  may  run  to  waste, 

Like  water  in  the  wilderness,  and  mock 

Her  fondest  hopes  of  happiness. 

ELLA. 

Ah  !  yes, — 

To  the  frail  bark  launched  out  upon  the  stream 
Of  ocean,  wild  and  treacherous,  would  I 
Then  liken  woman.     Pleasantly  awhile 
She  sails — and  happily  perceiveth  not 
The  future  wrecking  of  her  airy  hopes 
Upon  the  multiplicity  of  rocks 
And  soul-destroying  quicksands. 

ADAH. 

Such,  alas ! 

Her  state,  dear  Ella !  often  have  I  mark'd 
How  easily  a  trivial  incident 
Has  changed  the  even  tenor  of  the  life 
Of  many  of  my  fellows  ;  and,  perchance, 
So  may  it  ours,  for  ever.     Yonder  oak, 
Of  late  so  green,  so  tall,  so  flourishing; 
Why  seems  it  dry  and  wither'd?    Lo  !  beneath, 
A  puny  worm  has  gnaw'd  his  mighty  roots, 
And  he  has  faded  now  away.     So  we, 
Before  the  tiny  and  destructive  moth, 
Fade,  wither  and  decay. 

EVA. 

Dear  Ella!  yet 

You  moralize,  and  call  up  pensive  thoughts  — 
While  love  I  deem  a  luxury  of  woman's  life. 
Who  e'er  spake  ill  of  it,  save  the  mad  anchorite? 
None  else,  save  that  unsociable.     And  oh! 
When  love  shall  die  in  me,  then,  welcome,  death! 
As  preferable  far  to  such  a  state 
Of  selfishness — 


184        ELLA;  OR,  THE  PRINCE  OF  GILEAD'S  vow. 

ADAH. 

Oh!  selfishness,  indeed! 
How  strangely  different  is  true  self-love  ! 
And  how  exalting  is  the  principle! 
We  best  evince  love  to  ourselves,  when  we 
Love  those  around  us.     Happy  the  Supreme, 
In  shedding  his  exuberance  of  love 
Throughout  his  wide-spread  universe. 

ELLA. 

My  dear  companions!  pleasing  'tis  indeed, 
Most  profitably  pleasing,  to  converse. 
But  night,  so  far  advanced,  bids  us  retire 

To  our  repose. 

[Ella  offers  up  her  vesper  hymn*  and 
retires  with  her  friends. 


ELLA'S  VESPER  HYMN. 

O  God  of  Israel !  by  whose  hand 

Thy  chosen  ones  are  fed — 
Who,  through  the  dreary  wilderness, 

Hast  thy  dear  people  led — 

Our  evening  hymn  we  now  prefer 
Before  thy  throne  of  grace — 

Then,  God  of  Israel!  shine  on  us, 
With  thy  life-giving  face. 

Through  every  trying  path  of  life, 
Our  straying  feet.  Lord  !  guide. 

Each  day,  grant  us  our  daily  bread ; 
Our  raiment,  too.  provide. 

Now,  spread  thy  sheltering  wings  aroum 

Thy  children  as  they  sleep: 
And  'mid  the  dark  clouds  of  the  night, 

Do  them  from  danger  keep. 


ACT  II. 


SCENE  I. 

The  morning  is  clear  and  unclouded.  Ella  and  her  friends  having  arisen 
and  offered  up  their  matin  hymn,  make  preparations  for  their  usual  morn 
ing  excursion.  The  scene  upon  the  mountains  is  beautiful  in  the  ex 
treme.  The  wild  goat  is  clambering,  thus  early,  up  the  rocky  heights. 
And  in  the  distance  is  the  ravine  down  which,  yesterday,  passed  the 
Prince  of  Gilead.  There,  seated  upon  the  wild  flowers,  or  on  the  trunk 
of  some  fallen  tree,  is  the  shepherd  watching  his  charge,  and  making  his 
surmises  upon  the  intentions  of  each  passing  traveller. 


SCENE  II. 

Ella  and  her  companions  walking  upon  the  hills.  They  converse  on  va 
rious  subjects,  and  propose  a  visit  to  Circe,  enchantress  of  the  moun 
tains. 

ELLA. 

How  indescribably  pensive  I  am  ! 

EVA. 

Ah  !  why  this  sadness  ?  Ella !  as  we  walk 
Come,  tell  us  all  thy  sorrow. 

ELLA. 

Eva,  dear! 

Illusive  hopes  make  sad  the  countenance, 
EreWhile  so  cheerful.     Yet  delightfully 
The  sun  mounts  o'er  yon  hills.     The  little  birds 
Carol  too,  joyfully,  among  the  trees. 
How  beautiful  the  sun!     Thou  lord  of  day  ! 
Who  com'st  rejoicingly,  to  run  thy  race 
In  heaven,  and  render  man's  heart  glad, 


186        ELLA;  OR,  THE  PRINCE  OF  GILEAD'S  vow. 

And  birds  delighted  at  thy  fond  approach, 
Thou,  who  deck'st  beauteously  the  flowers ! 
Deck  thou  my  soul ! 

EVA. 

Beautiful  apostrophe! 
Apollo,  prince  of  the  musical  nine, 
This  morning  must  inspire  you.     Therefore,  I 
Advise,  that  we  repair  to  Tempe's  vale, 
And  rest  us  near  the  love-inspiring  fountains. 
Oh !  for  a  draught  of  sweet  Pieria! 
Or  of  the  far-famed  font  of  Helicon. 

[The  birds  are  heard  singing  awon< 
the  bushes,  and  in  the  trees. 

ELLA. 

It  gives  me  pleasure  now  to  see  you  all 
So  agile  and  so  cheerful.     Lo  !  the  birds, 
The  breeze,  the  flowers  unite  their  mingled  sweets, 
To  charm  us.     Should  our  spirits  droop  again, 
When  there  is  graciously  vouchsafed  to  us, 
Such  sources  of  enjoyment?     Ah!  methinks, 
That  nature's  font  of  light  would  gush  out  love 
Unto  my  soul.     Oh  !  the  melody  of  morn! 
And  throbs  my  heart  with  pleasure  and  delight. 
That  man  should  be  so  prone  to  idolize 
The  lord  of  day,  creates  no  more  to  me 
Astonishment.     How  mighty  He,  who  lit 
So  wonderful,  prodigious  mass  of  fire. 

ADAH. 

Well,  Ella!  are  you  purposing  again 

To  turn  fire-worshipper  ?     Full  well  we  know 

The  sinful  ness  of  such  mad  adoration. 

'Neath  the  waves  of  yonder  sluggish  sea 

Now  lie  the  Cities  of  the  Plain,  erewhile 

Who  were  the  worshippers  of  Sol ;  their  graves 

Deep  dug  by  thunder  of  th'  Omnipotent. 

No  eagle  I,  to  wish  to  soar  aloft, 

With  eyes  fix'd  on  the  sun.     His  light  I  love, 

But  do  abhor  his  vile  idolatry. 


ACT  II. — SCENE  IT.  187 

EVA. 

If  Ella  will  be  pensive — let  us  go 
Learn  of  the  Sibyl  of  the  hills,  what  she 
Can  tell  of  dim  futurity. 

ELLA. 

To  trust 

In  Circe's  oracles  is  rather  impious — 
Yet  should  the  sky  unclouded  then  permit, 
To-morrow,  I  may  not  so  much  object, 
That  this  fond  wish  be  gratified. 

EVA. 

To  me 

The  thought  of  going  thither  is  romantic; 
Though  others,  oft,  may  deem  it  impious. 
To  me  is  great  desire  to  view  the  Sibyl's  cave. 
Where  she  has  hid  her  curious  implements. 

ELLA. 

I  cannot  well  conjecture,  why  so  fond 
You  are  of  visiting  the  mystic  cell 
Of  her  possess'd  so  by  the  evil  one. 

ADAH. 

Naught  save  her  curiosity  would  lead 

Her  thither,  Ella!     Magic  scrolls  to  see, 

Divining  chalices, — and  rod  of  sorcery — 

With  the  strange  cup — which,  like  to  Jemsheed's,  shows 

The  world  and  things  now  doing  there. 

ELLA. 

Indeed! 

I  hope  it  will  not  turn  her  giddy  head, 
So  eager  after  every  foolishness.     Ah !  here 
We  are  once  more  at  our  dear  home — and  lo ! 
The  sand-clock  marjcs  three  hours  since 
Our  departure. 

[Ella  and  her  friends  go  in,  and  re 
sume  their  music  and  eiribroideiy. 


ACT    III. 


SCENE  I. 

The  morning  being  clear  and  unclouded,  Ella  and  her  companions  sally 
forth  on  their  romantic  excursion.  They  espy  a  little  girl  playing  with 
her  pet  goatling — having  talked  with  her,  they  then  proceed  on  their  way 
to  the  cave  of  the  Sibyl. 

ELLA. 

Here  we  go  to  view  the  witch's  wondrous  cave. 
How  noisily  our  voices  echo  'mong  the  rocks 
Which  cover  these  wild  heights! 

EVA. 

To  me,  indeed. 

The  sportive  echoes  are  amusing.     Ho! 
Who  is  that  upon  yon  little  plot  of  grass? 
Behold  !  a  little  mountain  villager. 

ELLA. 

Bless  me!  what  a  picture  of  innocence! 
What  are  you  doing  there,  my  little  friend  ? 

LITTLE  VILLAGER. 

The  grass  here,  ladies,  ft  so  soft,  and  flowers 
So  pretty,  that  I  oft  am  seated  here 
To  play  with  my  pet  goatling. 

ELLA. 

Happy  dear  ! 

And  we  must  kiss  thy  pretty  cheek,  before 
We  leave  you.     Farewell,  little  lady — now,  farewell. 


ACT  III. — SCENE  II.  189 

ADAH. 

How  happy  seem  these  mountain  villagers ! 
Lo  !  here  there  are  recesses  numberless 
Where  robbers  might  secrete  themselves. 
Ha!  what  is  this  !  a  pretty  water  spring — 
Come — quench  our  thirstiness. 

[Ella  and  her  friends  having  quenched 
their  thirst,  proceed  on  their  journey. 


SCENE  II. 

The  antique  cell  of  Circe  rises  in  view  before  Ella  and  her  friends,  as  they 
now  clamber  up  from  the  valley.  It  stands  upon  a  solid  rock,  whence  is 
sues  a  small  waterfall.  One  loud  rap,  however,  at  the  gate  of  the  cell, 
by  means  of  an  iron  ring  or  knocker,  brings  hastily  to  them  an  aged  por 
tress,  who  gives  them  a  ready  welcome.  With  some  fears  and  apprehen 
sions,  the  little  party  follows  their  aged  conductress,  as  she  leads  them 
through  a  low-arched  hall  into  a  low-roofed  apartment  of  larger  dimen 
sions  than  one  might  have  anticipated  from  such  an  exterior.  The  sides 
of  the  room  are  wainscotted  with  cedar,  but  blackened  by  time.  Faded 
tapestry  hangs  down  from  the  walls  in  some  parts — for  some  mysterious 
purpose — and  where  it  is  not,  hang  some  miserable  paintings  or  other 
devices.  In  the  centre  of  the  room  stands  an  old  oaken  table,  covered 
with  tattered  scrolls,  written  in  strange  characters.  Some  antiquated 
stools  in  the  place  of  chairs  constitute  the  rest  of  the  visible  furniture 
of  the  SibyPs  parlour.  The  aged  portress  having  ushered  them  in,  left 
them  a  few  moments  to  their  own  reflections — when,  the  tapestry  rising, 
displays  to  view  the  Sibyl  herself  emerging  from  an  opening  in  the 
wall,  while  she  holds  in  her  hand  an  ebony  cabinet.  Having  deposit 
ed  her  burden  upon  the  table  before  her — she  proceeds  to  open  it — and 
takes  thence  a  silver  chalice  of  great  value,  and  which  accords  not 
with  the  rest  of  the  furniture.  Into  this  she  pours  something  resem 
bling  liquid  fire,  for  it  blazes  while  exposed  to  the  atmosphere.  Into  it 
she  then  throws  three  pieces  of  thin  metal,  whereon  are  engraven  some 
Chaldee  characters — after  stirring  them  in  the  mixture  with  her  divin 
ing  rod,  they  come  together  by  magnetic  attraction,  and  form  a  word  in 
dicative  of  good  or  evil  fortune. 

SIBYL. 

Lo!  in  this  mystic  cup  I  now  behold 
Thy  destiny.     Mark  what  yon  letters  say — 


190        ELLA;  OR,  THE  PRINCE  OF  GILEAD'S  vow. 

The  word  is  Tekel  or  misfortune.     Hark  ! 
The  oracle  repeats  thy  destiny  obscure. 

\J1  small  shrine  is  sending  forth  some 

unintelligible  sounds  explained  by 

the  Sibyl. 

Thou  art  fair  Ella,  daughter  of  the  prince 

Of  Ramoth-Gilead  !     Thy  father,  now 

Victorious  o'er  the  slaughtered  Ammonites — 

To-morrow  shall  return,  to  execute 

His  awful  vow.     Then  come  thy  first  of  sorrows. 

Fair  Ella!  now  depart,  for  what  to  me 

Is  clearly  known,  it  is  forbid  to  tell. 

[The  Sibyl  now  disappears)  and  the 
aged  portress,  returning,  ushers  Ella 
and  her  astonished  companions  out 
of  the  cave. 


ACT    IV. 


SCENE  I. 

Music  and  rejoicings  in  Jephtha's  mansion.  Ella  with  her  harp,  and  her 
maidens,  goes  with  dancing  to  meet  the  returning  conqueror.  Ella 
embraces  her  parent — who  sheds  tears. 

ELLA. 

Why  is  my  father's  brow  so  alter'd  ?     Why 
Does  no  smile  nor  blessing  there  appear  ? 

JEPHTHA. 

Alas  !  alas  !  my  daughter,  thou  hast  met 

Thy  father — therefore  are  thy  father's  tears. 

According  to  my  awful  vow,  dear  Ella,  I 

Must  now  perform.     What  reck  I  then  for  glory — 

Thou  to  me  more  pleasant  than  all  things — thou 

More  lovely  than  the  music  of  the  morn — 

Which  erewhile  did  delight  me — thou  must  die. 

ELLA. 

Perform  thy  vow.     The  laurels,  won  by  thee, 
Demand  such  sacrifice.     Let  Ella  die. 
But  suffer  her  two  months,  that  she  may  go, 
And  with  her  fellows  on  fair  Gilead's  hills, 
Bewail  her  sad  untimely  destiny. 

JEPHTHA. 

Dear  Ella!  go,  and  meanwhile  I  to  Him 
Shall  pray,  who  rules  man's  destinies — that  He 
May  by  some  heavenly  sign  now  interpose 
To  save  thee. 

[Ella  embraces  her  father,  and  retires 
to  visit  her  native  hills. 


192        ELLA;  OR,  THE  PRINCE  OF  GILEAD'S  vow, 


SCENE  II. 

Jephtha,  alone, -gives  vent  to  his  deep-felt  sorrow.  Tears  of  sorrow  fall  from 
his  manly  cheeks — as  slowly  he  paces  backwards  and  forwards  in  his 
own  melancholy  mansion.  From  the  halls  he  passes  out,  and  stands 
musing  beneath  the  mountain  cedars.  The  moon,  now  full,  hangs  high 
in  heaven,  and  sheds  her  silvery  rays  through  the  foliage,  upon  the  grim 
visage  of  the  aged  warrior.  Adah  appears  to  make  intercession  for  her 
friend. 

JEPHTHA. 

It  is  Divine  decree.     I  must  submit. 

Yet  with  my  Ella,  lost  is  happiness. 

For  now,  I  reck  not  for  my  laurels  won 

By  vantage  over  Ammon's  armies.     Lo  ! 

Sad  and  desolate  shall  be  my  halls,  where  oft 

My  Ella  moved  so  joyously.     0  Thou 

Who  dwellest  in  the  heaven,  look  down,  and  grant 

Some  consolation  to  tby  votary. 

What  sound  is  that!  Hark!  'tis  the  sound  of  footsteps. 

[Adah,  friend  ofElla^  comes  to  suppli 
cate  Jephtha — and  kneels  at  his  feet. 

ADAH. 

Lo  !  here  now  at  thy  feet,  dear  prince  !  I  kneel, 
A  suppliant  for  thy  Ella. 

JEPHTHA. 

Why? 

What  meanest  thou,  dear  Adah?  Ella's  friend! 
Thou  knowest  there  is  no  redeemer  here — 
Fair  faithful  Adah!    Thy  sweet  voice,  as  Ella's, 
Comes  as  music  to  my  soul. 

ADAH. 

Thy  Ella,  save ! 

Why  should  sad  grief  hang  mantle-like  now  o'er 
Thy  once  so  happy  mansion  ? 


ACT  TV. — SCENE  II.  193 

JEPHTHA. 

Urge  me  not — 

For  'tis  the  will  of  Heaven.     My  Ella  soon 
Shall  fall  a  bleeding  sacrifice.     Ah!  now, 
We  bless  thee,  Heaven  !  for  all  the  past — the  hopes. 
The  joys.     And  still  we  rest  in  hope,  for  there 
Is  yet,  at  last,  a  resting-place  in  thee. 

ADAH. 

Dear  Prince,  farewell  !     I  now  must  go,  to  join 
Thy  Ella  on  the  mountains. 

[Exit  Adah. 


13 


ACT    V- 


SCENE  I. 

Ella  on  her  native  hills.  She  is  seated  by  a  fountain  in  a  deep  reverie. 
She  bends  her  eye  on  the  crystal  water,  as  all  silvery  it  runs  through 
the  trees — and  for  awhile  speaks  not  a  word  of  happiness  or  sorrow. 

EVA. 

Dear  Ella!  can  we  alleviate  thy  sorrow? 
Rather  may  high  Heaven  forgive  such  sacrifice. 

ADAH. 

Oh  !  let  us,  Ella!  die  with  thee — for  this 
Alone  best  would  alleviate  our  sorrow. 

ELLA. 

Ah !  that  now  cannot  be,  my  faithful  friend ! 
How  much  I  owe  thee  !     But,  alas !  thy  cheek 
Is  pale, — and  thy  dear  eyes  are  sunk  with  sorrow. 
Weep  not,  my  Adah  !     Sorrow  ever  comes. 
Ah!  must  I  leave  such  loveliness  as  dwells 
In  thee  ?     How  many  joyous  hours  have  I 
Now  sported  with  thee  ?     Many  joyous  hours  ! 
And  when  in  the  cold  grave  I  lie,  by  some 
Forgotten — thou  wilt  sorrow  still  for  me. 
Take  this  last  gift — my  tuneful  lyre — and  wake 
Its  melancholy  strings  in  memory  of  me. 
Wake  it  when  morn  in  beauty  shows  herself, 
And  when  thou  sayest  thy  sweet  vesper  hymn. 

ADAH. 

0  sad  but  precious  relic  !  I  will  clasp 

Thee  to  my  heart — and  I  will  keep  thee  long, 


ACT  V. — SCENE  I.  195 

In  memory  of  her  I  love.     My  hands 
Shall  linger  on  thy  melancholy  strings — 
And  when  I  hear  thy  strains — I  then  shall  hear 
My  Ella's  spirit  moving  there. 

ELLA. 

Indeed, 

I  must  then  leave  thee — and  leave  earth,  I  loved 
So  well,  with  all  its  lovely  things — the  birds — 
The  trees — the  flowers — Dear  Adah!  Eva!  come. 

[Exit  Ella  for  her  home  in  Mizpeh. 


SCENE  II. 

Ella,  at  home,  lies  asleep  for  the  last  time  upon  her  silken  couch  of  repose. 
Adah  remains  near  the  couch  of  her  friend.     She  sings  : 

Ye  blessed  spirits  watch  her  rest, 
Soft  slumbers  creep  now  o'er  her  breast — 
For  soon  she  leaves  where  angels  trod, 
To  sleep  in  hope — and  rest  with  God. 

[Ella  sleeps  soundly.    When  the  sun  is 
up}  Adah  wakes  her  friend. 

ELLA. 

Oh !  peaceful  rest  came  over  me,  my  friend ! 
And  visions  too  of  bliss.     Last  night,  methought 
That,  angel-led,  I  had  now  traversed  o'er 
The  interstellar  spaces  of  the  sky — 
And  stood  upon  the  hills  of  immortality. 
And  they  were  high  and  sunny  hills.     And  lo  ! 
A  bow,  aurora-like,  rose  brilliantly 
Above  their  summits — while  the  air  around 
Shook  tremblingly  with  golden  music  of 
Ten  thousand  harps.     There  too,  I  saw 
Erected  numberless  palaces  of  light, 
Where  beings  of  seraphic  beauty  sported, 
Hovering  on  their  invisible  wings — while 
Songs  of  joy  burst  forth  from  their  immortal  tongues — 
And  living  waters  flow.     And  now,  behold! 


196  ELLA  ;    OR,  THE  PRINCE  OF  GILEAD*S  VOW. 

A  voice  behind  me,  saying,  This  is  heaven. 
I  started,  and  awoke.     But  ah  !  again 
A  cloud  of  the  Infinite  comes  o'er  my  soul. 
The  joys  that  promised  fair — oh !  they  are  fled. 
To  me  life's  dearest  charms  shall  be  unknown; 
Though  I  erewhile,  hoped  too  to  be  so  blest. 
How  vain  our  hopes !  delusive  phantoms  all ! 
So  passes  life!     A  rapid  current  ever 
Bears  our  visionary  joys  away. 
I  must  depart  to  meet  familiar  faces — 
Hear  the  sounds  of  voices  of  my  home, 
No  more  for  ever.     Dearest  Adah!  still, 
If  my  fond  memory  shrine  itself  in  thee, 

I  shall  survive. 

[Enters  a  messenger  from  her  father, 
who  kneels  at  her  feet,  and  tells  her 
that  they  are  ready  for  the  proces 
sion. 

MESSENGER. 

I  come  unwillingly  to  tell,  that  now, 
The  pile  is  got  in  readiness — and  thou 
Must  come  ere  the  procession  moves — 
Hark!  what  noise  is  that  without? 

[Exit  messenger. 


SCENE  III. 

The  silence  of  Jephtha's  mansion  is  disturbed  by  a  sudden  throng.  The 
elders  of  Mizpeh  appear.  Jephtha  comes  forth  to  answer  them.  He 
.  stands  on  the  terrace  of  his  mansion- 

CHIEF  ELDER. 

Why  dost  thou  thus  behave,  0  prince  of  Gilead? 
Why  comest  thou  to  break  tranquillity 
Erewhile  which  u^ed  to  reign  in  Mizpeh's  streets? 
And  thou  hast  gone  to  fight  the  Ammonites 
Without  us,  as  a  Gideon  did  before  thee. 
We  will  burn  thy  house  upon  thee.     And  lo! 
Preparest  thou  to  act  another  tragedy ! 


ACT  V. — SCENE  IV.  197 

Daring  to  offer  up,  in  pagan  sacrifice, 
Thy  daughter  Ella — of  whose  head  a  hair 
Shall  never  fall — while  we  are  citizens. 

JEPHTHA. 

Shall  my  proud  falchion  turn  the  tide  of  war  ? 

And  shall  strong  Ammon's  armies  bow,  when  I 

Am  leader  over  Israel?  and  shall  I  bend 

When  ye  command,  0  men  of  Mizpeh? 

Shall  Jephtha  quail,  when  ye  are  present  here? 

No!  nor  think  I  once  of  yielding.     And  yet, 

I  wish  not  to  contest — although  the  deed 

Will  form  a  fearful  tale  in  Israel. 

Lo!  it  must  be — and  therefore  care  I  not 

If  Heaven  approve — what  may  be  said  now  here, 

And  in  my  native  Gilead.     Behold! 

In  aftertimes  men  shall  it  read,  and  say 

I  have  perform'd  my  awful  vow.     'Tis  true — 

I  sacrifice  the  one,  to  me  most  dear — whose  voice 

Is  pleasant  to  my  soul,  as  melody  of  morning — 

I  sacrifice  her,  Elders!  then  in  love. 

If  Heaven  approve — who  then  can  stay  me? 

Away !  away !  ye  citizens  of  Mizpeh. 

[Jephtha's  brow  gathers  in  wrath,  and 
the  throng  retires. 


SCENE  IV. 

The  funeral  pile  of  Ella  erected  beneath  the  mountain  oaks.    The  friends 
of  the  devoted  girl  are  covering  it  with  garlands. 

THEIR  SONG. 

"Bring  flowers !  pale  flowers 

O'er  her  pile  to  shed — 
Weave  a  rosy  crown 

For  the  early  dead — 
Though  we  smile  in  vain 

For  what  once  was  ours — 
As  love's  latest  gifts,  • 

We  bring  the  pale  flowers." 


198        ELLA;  OR,  THE  PRINCE  OF  GILEAD'S  vow. 

The  procession  now  approaches  the  altar.  Ella  bids  farewell  to  her  fa 
ther — and  resigns  herself  into  the  arms  of  a  pagan  priestess,  sole  performer 
of  the  bloody  rite.  Jephtha  calls — but  the  voice  of  his  Ella  answers  no 
more.  The  funeral  fire  rose  high — and  murmurs  fill  the  air.  Klla  is  sacri 
ficed. 

Upon  the  bloody  altar  lay 

The  daughter  of  proud  Gilead's  son ; 

The  tale  shall  be  rehearsed  alway, 

With  laurels  which  her  father  won. 

Four  times  a  year  the  maidens  dress 
Fair  Ella's  sad  untimely  grave — 
Four  times  a  year  they  show  distress 
For  her,  the  daughter  of  the  brave. 


NOTES 


TO  THIS 


PRINCE  OF  GILEAD'S  VOW 


NOTE  1.— ACT  HI.    SCENE  n. 

In  these  days  of  olden  time,  when  man's  mind  had  not  the  benefit  of  the 
aid  of  a  full  and  clear  revelation  •  it  was  not  so  apparent,  that  impiety  less 
or  more  characterized  all  intercourse  with  those,  who  were  the  professed 
followers  of  the  mystic  art  of  divination.  And  oft  in  such  emergencies  as 
was  this  of  Ella,  the  anxious  mind  would  have  recourse  to  this  unhappy 
expedient,  under  the  hope  of  learning  some  of  the  hidden  things  of  futurity. 

"Prudens  futuri  temporis  exitum, 
Caliginosa  nocte  premit  Deus. 

The  Hebrew  governor  of  Egypt  spoke  of  his  divining  cup.  And  in  af 
ter  time,  we  hear  of  Balaam,  wizard  of  Peor,  as  also  of  the  far-famed  witch 
of  Endor,  who  by  her  enchantments,  brought  up  the  spiiit  of  buried  Sa 
muel,  at  the  command  of  Saul,  the  mighty  monarch  of  Israel.  Superna 
tural  influence  was  ever  attributable  to  these  professors  of  the  art  of  sor 
cery. 

There  is,  as  many  are  aware,  an  oriental  tradition  of  a  cup,  which  pos 
sessed  the  very  peculiar  property  of  representing  the  world  that  then  was, 
and  the  things  that  were  doing  in  it :  of  this  nature  was  the  cup  of  Jem- 
sheed,  a  king  of  ancient  Persia,  wherein  the  universe  was  shown.  To 
this  also  they  attributed  the  prosperity  of  their  monarch,  who  had  thus  be 
fore  him  a  view  of  things  past — present — and  to  come 


200  NOTES  TO  THE  PRINCE  OF  GILEAD?S  VOW. 


NOTE  1. — ACT  iv. 

The  prince  of  Gilead  was  a  mighty  man  of  valour.  Animated  by  a  spirit 
of  jealousy,  his  brethren,  by  reason  of  a  family  feud,  gave  cause  to  Jeph- 
tha,  this  mighty  Gileadite,  to  depart  from  his  father's  house,  and  seek  for 
honour  elsewhere.  Those  who  are  possessed  of  genuine  courage,  evince 
most  the  disposition  for  peace — and  when  they  find  they  can  profit  naught 
by  yielding,  it  is  most  expedient  to  retire  altogether  from  those  who,  by 
their  contentious  spirit,  would  render  even  a  peace-maker's  efforts  unavail 
ing.  That  he  was  wronged  by  his  brethren  is  manifest  to  all — and  his 
character,  whatever  may  be  said  against  it,  is  indisputably  grand.  The 
prince,  therefore,  on  account  of  family  contention,  departed  for  the  city  of 
Mizpeh.  There  he  lived  in  quiet  with  his  daughter,  the  heroine  of  the 
drama  called  after  her  name. 

The  Israelites,  however,  who  dwelt  south  and  east  of  Jerusalem,  bordered 
so  closely  upon  the  nations  of  the  conquered,  who  were  also  idolaters,  that 
they  could  not  keep  themselves  free  from  the  sin  of  idols,  but  relapsed,  less 
or  more,  into  the  ways  to  which  they  had  been  so  addicted,  when  their 
ruler  Aaron  made  the  golden  calf  to  which  the  whole  congregation  paid 
stupid  adoration.  For  this  sin  the  Almighty  permitted  the  heathen  to 
bring  on  them  the  terrible  scourge  of  war.  In  the  hour  of  their  extremity 
the  people  of  Ramoth-Gilead,  with  whom  the  prince  formerly  dwelt,  sent 
for  him  to  be  captain  over  them.  While  sitting  in  his  house,  therefore, 
the  elders  came  secretly  to  him,  and  private  arrangements  having  been 
made,  he  consents  to  head  the  formerly  haughty  and  quarrelsome  people 
of  Gilead. 

Previous  to  his  departure,  however,  the  warrior  made  a  solemn  vow,  that 
should  he  prove  victorious,  he  would  offer  as  a  burnt-offering  whatsoever 
came  forth  of  the  doors  of  his  house  to  meet  him  at  his  return.  He  there 
fore  set  out,  arid  crossed  over  the  mountains,  and  heading  the  army  of 
Israel,  now  courageous  by  reason  of  his  presence,  marched  against,  and 
defeated  the  Ammonites.  Jephtha  returned  covered  with  laurels.  His 
vow  was  evidently  improper — but  with  a  judgment  perverted  by  too  long 
familiarity  with  the  abominable  customs  prevalent  among  the  surround 
ing  idolaters — he  supposed  it  truly  acceptable  to  the  Deity,  who  had 
crowned  with  success  his  efforts  in  war. 


FALL   OF    PALMYRA. 


A  DRAMATIC   POEM. 


FALL  OF  PALMYRA. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONA 

INUS,  the  dissolute  Sovereign  of  Palmyra. 

ILDA,  his  beautiful  Queen. 

IN  A,  sister  of  Inus,  and  affianced  to  Prince  Atys  of  Balbec 

GORDAJ  the  Queen's  favourite. 

VAMPI,  the  King's  high  minister,  and  revealer  of  secret*. 

Courtiers. 

PRINCE  ATYS  of  Balbec. 

The  Queen's  maidens. 

MINTNA,  chief  cup-bearer. 

MERPESSA,  steward  of  the  King's  house 

OLDO,  aged  keeper  of  the  King's  lions. 

Aged  prophet  from  Palestine, 

Dark  slaves. 


FALL  OF  PALMYKA. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I. 

It  is  early  dawn,  and  Aurora,  with  her  rosy  fingers  just  opening  the  golden 
gates  of  day,  to  pour  a  flood  of  light  upon  the  plains,  around  the  doomed 
but  magnificent  city  of  Palmyra.  Inus.  the  last  of  her  haughty  kings; 
seated  at  his  palace  window,  is  watching  for  the  first  appearance  of  the 
rising  Sun,  the  deity  of  Eastern  devotion.  The  lord  of  day  appearing, 
the  king  prostrates  himself,  and  thrice  kisses  his  hand,  according  to  his 
ancestral  custom.  Afterwards,  gazing  around  upon  his  hanging  gardens, 
in  which  silvery  fountains  are  playing,  and  birds  merrily  warbling  their 
early  songs,  he  thus  begins  his  soliloquy. 

KING  INUS. 

Is  not  this  palace  mine  that  I  have  builded? 
What  meant  that  dotard  seer,  who  erewhile  came 
To  utter  his  forebodings  in  Palmyra's  streets? 
His  prophecies  and  words  rise  spectral-like 
Before  me.     "Inus,  haughty  king!  then  know 
That  Desolation  deepest,  walking  oft 
With  silent  footsteps,  ere  long  cometh  here, 
As  whirlwind  cometh."     Dotard!  dotard!  no — 
t  Thy  vile  imaginings  shall  perish  too  with  tbee. 

In  breast  of  mine  no  thought  so  villanous. 
Who  told  to  thee,  that  silence  deep  and  dark, 


206  FALL  OF  PALMYRA. 

Shall  hold  her  court  in  my  gay  palaces? 

And  said'st  thou  that  the  sleepers  of  Palmyra  soon 

Shall  rest,  to  wake  no  more  for  ever?  Ah! 

Thou  prophet  villanous!  again  come  here, 

To  spread  alarm  in  my  fair  palaces, 

And  I  will  give  thee  to  the  lions. 

[  Thus  saying,  the  King  seeks  the  apart 
ments  of  Queen  Ilda. 


SCENE  II. 

Queen  Ilda,  upon  her  ivory  throne,  while  a  pavilion  of  gold  canopies  her 
head,  is  robed  like  Venus,  and  surrounded  by  the  most  beautiful  virgins 
of  her  court.  Flutes — hautboys— and  harps  are  playing  their  softest 
airs,  and  perfumes  spreading  their  sweets  on  every  side.  Each  girl  is 
beautiful,  but  on  the  face  of  the  queen  are  unutterable  beauty  and  sor 
row.  From  the  windows  may  be  seen  Palmyra's  great  water-fall.  The 
little  lakes  in  its  vicinity,  irradiated  by  the  Sun's  rays,  appear  like  plates 
of  living  gold. 

KING  INUS. 

Ilda,  my  beauty!  now  what  foreign  thoughts 
Disturb  thy  once  calm  mind's  serenity? 
Hark!  to  the  music  of  the  morning!  hark! 


QUEEN  ILDA. 

King  Inus!  it  is  now  my  heart's  desire 
To  banish  them. 

KING  INUS. 

To-morrow,  then, 

Thou,  with  thy  troop  of  maidens,  beautiful 
As  angels,  bright  and  fair,  shalt  now  expect 
To  grace  my  royal  banquet.     Atys,  too, 
The  lover  of  fair  Ina,  comes  our  visitant 
And  guest.     Right  heartily  we  welcome  him. 


ACT  I. — SCENE  II.  207 

QUEEN  ILDA. 

Dear  Inus!   my  acknowledgments  accept 
For  thy  so  gracious  invitation.     Naught 
Shall  then  prevent,  I  trust,  my  presence  with 
Thy  honour'd  guests,  and  thy  so  princely  visiter. 

[Inv.s  embraces  his  Queen,  and  retires 
to  court,  where  his  ministers  are 
awaiting  him.  The  king  having  re 
tired,  Queen  flda  gives  vent  to  her 
melancholy  feelings,  and  converses 
with  her  favourite,  Gorda,  a  young 
girl  brought  from  the  land  of  Pales 
tine. 

QUEEN  ILDA. 

Oh  !  for  a  cot  by  the  sweet,  mossy  bank 
Of  Jordan.     Pleasure  kills  me.     This  round 
Of  sublunary  joy  can  now  no  more 
Cause  me  delight.     "  Uneasy  is  the  head 
Of  royalty."     So  Inus  may  declare, 
While  round  his  golden  curtain'd  couch, 
Three-scoreproud  guards  are  ever  vigilant. 
Dear  Gorda!  whither  has  that  prophet-seer 
Departed  ? 

GORDA. 

Whither  he  is  gone,  to  me, 
Dear  Queen!  is  still  a  mystery;  and  yet 
To  him  Palmyra  may  afford  some  hiding-place. 

QUEEN  ILDA. 

If  of  his  whereabouts  thou  canst  divine, 
Inform  him  of  my  earnest  wish,  that  he 
Flee  from  the  capital.     Full  well  I  know 
That  Inus  is  revengeful. 

GORDA. 

Hastily 

I  shall  thy  message  tell  to  him,  if  e'er 
To  me  be  known  his  resting-place. 


208  FALL  OF  PALMYRA. 

QUEEN  ILDA. 

No  voice 

Of  mortal  e'er  so  terrified  my  soul — 
His  words — "  Forsake  thy  idols,  fairest  Queen ! 
Ring  in  my  sinful  ears. 

GORDA. 

Undoubtedly 

He  came,  a  prophet  holy  and  inspired, 
To  warn  thee  of  some  coming  wretchedness. 

QUEEN  ILDA. 

Yet  let  our  words  now  ne'er  be  overheard 
By  minions  of  his  majesty,  whose  ire 
We  know  is  dangerous.     Were  I  to  doubt 
The  sacredness  of  his  devotion  here, 
Naught  else  awaits  me  than  the  lions. 

GORDA. 

His  wrath,  dear  Queen!  how  terrible!  yet  oft 
Ere  this,  I  heard  of  such  dread  punishment. 
And  in  the  prophet's  holy  Book,  it  too 
Is  writ  of  men  cast  into  furnaces, 
For  worshipping  another  deity. 

QUEEN  ILDA. 

King  Inus  loves — but  loves  me  then  no  more, 
If  I  despise  his  silly  idol. 

GORDA. 

Ah! 

Queen  Ilda!  are  not  we  thy  willing  slaves? 
We  also  love  thee.     Certainly  where  love 
Resides,  there  too  is  found  security. 

QUEEN  ILDA. 

Hark!  'tis  the  King  approaching. 


ACT  I.  — SCENE  III.  209 

KING  INUS. 

Ilda!  mind — 

To-day  I  go  a  hunting,  and  return 
To  see  all  ready  for  our  festival. 

[Inus,  having  embraced  his  Queen, 
vaults  upon  his  swift-footed  Arabian t 
and  with  his  sixty  body-guards,  rides 
off  towards  the  plains  of  Balbec, 

QUEEN  ILDA. 

Dear  Gorda!  we  shall  now  retire,  to  see 
What  orders  Mintna  needs,  that  he  aright 
May  make  due  preparations  for  the  feast 
Of  his  most  royal  majesty. 

[Exit  the  Queen  and  her  maidens. 
'      14 


ACT   II. 


SCENE  I. 

lii  the  apartments  of  Merpessa,  the  royal  steward,  preparations  are  making 
for  the  feast.  Mintna,  the  cup-bearer  of  the  King,  converses  with  Mer 
pessa. 

MINTNA- 

How  alter'd  are  Queen  Ilda's  looks-!  just  now 
I  did  observe  them,  as  she  order'd  me 
To  make  the  royal  banquet.     Ah!   methinks 
She  cares  but  little  for  these  golden  cups — 
The  rosy  wine  is  ever  poisonous. 

MERPESSA. 

How  so?  will  Mintna  babble  so  of  her 
Most  royal  majesty?     Take  care,  lest  now 
These  walls  have  ears — and  heads  to-morrow  pay 
The  forfeit  of  such  insolence. 

MINTNA. 

Just  so  — 

Yet  Ilda's  pretty  face,  changed  as  the  moon, 
Would  tell  a  tale  on  her.     She  loves  the  King 
I  judge,  far  otherwise  than  her  fair  words 
Do  show  it.     Inus,  meanwhile,  suspects  not, 
But  misdeems  her  pensiveness,  true  love. 
Yet  in  her  breast,  naught  save  suspicion  lurks — 
She  ever  will  imagine  treachery. 
No  matter  when,  or  where,  I  may  present 


ACT  II. — SCENE  IT.  211 

The  cup  for  her  most  royal  lips,  I  must 
Thrice  with  my  golden  taster  sip  the  same, 
Ere  she  partake  of  it — and  even  then 
The  cup  is  left  half  tasted. 

MERPESSA. 

Ah!  'tis  well 

She  does  thus  keep  in  due  restraint  desire 
And  appetite.     For  what  a  scene,  were  King 
And  Queen  both  drunk  in  merriment. 
Sure,  in  his  cups,  King  Inus  is  more  mad 
Than  any  tiger.     Daggers — goblets — cups — 
All  do  their  business  then. 

MINTNA. 

Yes,  I  mind 

How  once  he  blinded  little  Abycus, 
His  page,  with  rosy  cheeks  and  golden  locks, 
And  knew  no  more  of  what  he  did  till  came 
The  Sun-god's  rising. 

MERPESSA. 

Mintna!  hold,  I  say — 

Our  tongues  must  cease,  that  we  with  active  hands, 
May  have  affairs  in  greater  readiness. 


SCENE  II. 

The  queen  in  the  gardens,  is  seated  upon  the  marble  periphery  of  the 
golden  fountain,  in  discourse  with  her  favourite,  Gorda.  The  rest  of  the 
queen's  maidens  seated  on  the  flowers  which  cluster  sound,  are  plaiting 
chaplets  for  their  heads,  in  view  of  the  great  royal  banquet.  Gold  fish 
sport  in  the  crystal  waters  of  the  basin  of  the  fountain. 

QUEEN  ILDA. 

I  love  to  see  those  gold-fish  dart  along 

In  sportive  innocence.     How  many  hours. 


212  FALL  OF  PALMYRA. 

While  Inus  sported  in  the  chase,  have  I 
In  preference,  sat  here  to  view  them. 

[The  Queen  had  hardly  uttered  the  last 
words,  when  a  bird  of  prey,  which 
had  been  hovering  over  them,  pounces 
down,  and  carries  off  one  of  the  gay 
finny  sporters. 

GORDA. 

Oh!  Oh! 
The  horrid  creature! 

QUEEN  ILDA. 

Ah!  'tis  ominous, — 

And  we  so  nigh.     Just  view  the  ravenous  thing, 
How  haughtily  it  soars,  now  far  away 
With  its  so  beauteous  prize. 

[The  Queen  alarmed,  hastens  to  her 
apartments,  and  awaits  the  return  of 
the  King. 


SCENE  III. 

The  King,  upon  his  return,  visits  the  office  of  Vampi,  high  minister  and 
revealer  of  secrets.    He  informs  the  King  of  Ilda's  insincerity. 

KING  INUS. 

Well,  Vampi!  how  go  royal  matters  on, 
The  King  not  present  here? 

VAMPI. 

To  me,  0  King! 

To  whom  all  secret  revelations  do  belong, 
To  mention  which,  were  death  to  any  else 
Of  thy  own  subjects,  certainly,  is  known 
A  fault  or  charge  of  serious  character, 
Against  thy  queen,  so  beautiful  and  fair, 
The  sharer  too  of  thy  proud  royalties. 


ACT  II. — SCENE  III.  213 


KING  1NUS. 

What,  Vampi!  has  she  broken  fealty? 
False  to  the  King — 

VAMPI. 

No,  Inus,  mighty  King! 
Oh!  no — 'tis  that  she  does  refuse  to  pay 
Due  adoration  to  our  deity. 
Her  alter'd  countenance  and  visage  pale, 
Afford  a  proof,  to  me  too  manifest, 
That  she  detests  her  lord  and  deity. 

KING  INUS. 

How  can  it  be?  0  faithful  Vampi ! 

VAMPI. 

Sire, 

What  better  proof  canst  thou  desire  than  this, 
To  argue  she  detests  thee?     Days  have  passed — 
Yes,  months  have  rolled  away,  and  who  has  seen 
Fair  Ilda  at  her  morning  adoration? 

KING  INUS. 
Can  Ilda  be  so  impious? 

VAMPI. 

Certainly — 

That  prophet,  who  erewhile  with  evil  words, 
Came  to  thy  palace  gates  with  prophecies 
Of  evil,  and  who  yet,  or  I  misjudge, 
Has  in  Palmyra  some  dark  hiding-place, 
Sole  author  of  this  change,  must  suffer  death, 
Such  as  thy  will  may  order. 

KING  INUS. 

Death  to  him! 

And  by  the  light  of  day,  0  Vampi !  let 
Thy  words,  as  heretofore,  be  proven  true, 
And  that  old  prophet  villanous,  if  found, 
Shall  feast  my  royal  lions. 


214  FALL  OF  PALMYRA. 

VAMPI. 

Most  true,  sire ! 

'Tis  such  impiety,  if  I  misjudge  not, 
Which  even  now  makes  yonder  heaven,  erewhile 
Serene,  look  black  and  ominous.     And  lo! 
For  several  days  by-gone,  I  have  discern'd 
Round  the  horizon's  verge,  that  same  dark  streak, 
Portentous  augury.     Naught  save  despite 
Cast  on  thy  deity — no  foreign  cause 
Could  bring  so  nigh  the  pall  funereal. 

KING  INUS. 

To-morrow,  then,  hale  to  my  royal  throne 
The  impious  Ilda.     Let  her  likewise  there, 
Evince  her  wicked  want  of  reverence. 

VAMPI. 

She  shall  be  present,  sire !  before  thy  bar, 
Obedient  to  thy  royal  order. 

[Exit  King  Inns,  in  a  high  state  of  ex 
citement. 


ACT    III. 


SCENE  I. 

Inus.  seated  on  his  golden  throne,  surrounded  by  his  ministers,  awaits  the 
coming  of  Vampi;  his  high  minister. 

KING  INUS. 

Hail,  ministers  of  great  Palmyra's  city! 
To-night  I  purpose  to  make  glad  the  hearts 
Of  all  my  nobles.     Present  then,  likewise, 
At  our  most  royal  festival,  be  all 
My  honoured  ministers.     Yet  it  behooves 
To-day,  according  to  the  wise  advice 
Of  him,  who  holds  the  secrets  of  my  realm, 
That  Ilda  be  arraign'd  before  my  bar, 
Charged  with  impiety  towards  the  gods — 
Which  then  demands  severest  punishment. 

[The    Queen    appears,   supported   by 
Vampi. 

VAMPI. 

Obedient  to  the  King's  command,  his  Queen 
Is  now  before  him. 

KING  INUS. 

Vampi!  open  now 

In  presence  of  my  honoured  ministers, 
The  charge  made  in  thy  private  chambers.     Ah! 
Should  that  crime  be  hers — what  doom  awaits  her! 
I  banish  hence  unconsecrated  clay, 
For  this,  and  not  for  acts  of  wantonness. 


216  FALL  OF  PALMYRA. 

I 

VAMPI. 

I  charge  Queen  Ilda  with  contempt  of  deity. 


KING  INUS. 


Behold!  Queen  Ilda!  yonder  rising  sun, 
And  kneeling  pay  the  tribute  due  by  thee 
Of  prayerful  adoration. 

QUEEN  ILDA. 

Nature's  light! 

King  Inus!  I  still  love  yon  cheering  sun, 
But  hate  his  villanous  idolatry. 
Who  made  that  luminary,  shall  alone, 
Henceforth,  command  my  heart-felt  adoration. 

KING  INUS. 
Once  more  obey,  and  thou  art  beautiful, 

QUEEN  ILDA.. 

Bid  me  bow  down  to  that  which  is  above  us, 
The  great  Maker,  Ruler  infinite.     Ah ! 
If  I  know  how  to  believe — methinks  I 
Know  likewise  to  die.     Suing  peace  of  these 
Thy  ministers,  is  but  to  bleat,  as  lamb 
Unto  his  bloody  butchers. 

KING  INUS. 

Thy  refusal  here. 

Confirms  the  truth  of  Vampi's  accusations; 
Treason  unpardonable  'gainst  my  realm, 
Wherein  we  serve  no  stranger  deity. 
The  law  imperatively,  with  my  will 
Commands  to  banish  such  impiety 
From  fair  Palmyra's  palaces.     Go  then 
Unto  thy  chambers.     When  to-morrow's  sun 
Has  set  in  yonder  heaven,  thy  destiny 
Shall  be  by  my  decree,  fix'd  irreversibly. 

[Vampi  conducts  the  Queen  to  her  re 
motest  private  chambers,  and  the 
King  rising)  Palmyra's  council  is 
adjourned. 


ACT  III. — SCENE  II.  217 

SCENE  II- 
Prince  Atys  of  Balbec  arrives  in  his  chariot,  at  the  palace  ol  Inus. 

KING  INUS. 

Ho!  welcome,  Atys!  to  our  palaces: 
How  fares  my  sister  Ina,  who  is  here 
Along  with  thee? 

PRINCE  ATYS. 

Long  expectant  have  we  been 
Of  pleasure,  realized  so  oft  before 
In  thy  so  merry  palaces.     How  fares 
The  King  of  great  Palmyra's  city? 

KING  INUS. 

Well 

And  happy  were  I,  Atys!  princely  guest, 
Had  not  an  incident,  all  unforeseen, 
Occurred  to  mar  my  individual  pleasure. 

PRINCE  ATYS. 

What  incident  could  mar  King  Inns'  state 
Or  happiness? 

KING  INUS. 

My  Queen  has  verily 
Forsworn  our  deity,  in  open  court 
Before  my  ministers. 


Did  not  anticipate. 


PRINCE  ATYS. 

Such  tidings,  I 


INA. 


Oh!  long  ere  this 
I  knew  her  guilty  of  impiety; 
Yet  did  demur  to  tell,  because  assured 
The  King's  resentment  would  be  violent. 


218  FALL  OF  PALMYRA. 

KING  INUS. 

Let  this  not  wholly  mar  our  festival. 
Come!  enter  Atys!  we  thrice  welcome  thee, 
To  our  intended  scene  of  merriment. 


[The  prince  enters,  and  Ina  retires  to 
her  private  apartments  in  the  palace. 


SCENE  III. 

It  is  now  midnight,  and  Queen  Ilda,  with  her  favourite  Gorda,  unconscious 
of  the  intention  of  the  king  respecting  her,  endeavours  in  her  remote 
chambers  to  amuse  herself  and  her  companion,  by  gazing  out  upon  the 
still  night  scenery.  A  knock  at  the  door  informs  her  of  the  presence  of 
her  friend,  old  Oldo,  keeper  of  the  King's  lions. 

QUEEN  ILDA. 

Dear  Gorda!  one  dim  lamp  allow'd  us  here, 
May  serve  for  this  last  vigil,  to  be  kept 
To-night,  in  Inus'  melancholy  palaces. 
Ah  !  melancholy — for  what  happiness 
Did  I  e'er  find  in  such  abiding  place. 
Come,  Gorda!  let  us  slumber  if  we  can, 
In  spite  of  unknown  destiny. 

GORDA. 

Ah!  yes — 

But  slumber  is  not  sleep.     'Tis  very  late — 
The  moon  is  setting  too,  just  now,  behind 
Yon  purple-mantled  palaces.     And  lo! 
Lengthening  the  shadows,  soon  shall  disappear. 
See  in  that  crimson  cloud,  what  antic  shapes 
Rise  up  and  pass  away.     What  may  we  ntit, 
In  fancy  conjure  up?     Not  fancy,  all — 
The  stillness  of  the  atmosphere,  so  red, 
Forebodes  the  hurricane. 


ACT  III. — SCENE  III.  219 

QUEEN  ILDA. 

Ah!  me — 

My  heart  would  sink  within  me — woman's  strength 
Gives  way  beneath  such  dread^  uncertainty. 
By  night,  my  sorrowing  soul  can  know  no  rest — 
By  day,  the  dial,  pointing  to  the  passing  hours, 
Would  tell  me,  too,  that  I  had  also  pass'd 
The  true  meridian  of  my  happiness. 
0  Gorda!  there  is  One,  whose  watch-place  is 
Above  the  clouds  most  high,  who  also  doth 
Regard  with  eye  of  love,  his  penitent  adorers, 

GORDA. 

Thy  imagination  borne  on  seraph-wings, 
Reminds  me  of  some  strains  congenial — 
Shall  I  repeat  them? 

QUEEN  ILDA. 

Any  thing  to  pass 
The  weary  hours. 

[Gorda  sings. 


SONG. 

"  Soon,  soon,  shall  my  toiling  bark  touch  on  that  shore, 

Where  the  desolate  heart  shall  be  blest, 
Where  the  surge  of  this  long-troubling  ocean  no  more, 
Shall  deprive  the  worn  spirit  of  rest. 

"Where  no  care  for  the  past,  arid  no  fear  for  the  morrow, 

Shall  oppress  us  tired  wanderers — welcomed — forgiven; 
Where  the  bark  that  hath  rode  through  the  red  waves  of  sorrow, 
Shall  anchor  sublimely  in  shadowless  heaven. 

"  On,  on,  my  frail  bark !  through  the  surge  and  the  spray  : 

There's  a  beacon  that  beckons  us  on  from  afar, 
On,  on,  my  weak  bark;  through  thy  perilous  way — 
There's  above  thee  a  heaven,  and  before  thee  a  star." 

[The  Queen's  favourite  was  just  ending 
her  song,  when  a  gentle  tap  informs 
her  of  the  presence  of  Oldo. 


220  FALL  OF  PALMYRA. 

QUEEN  ILDA. 

Who  knocks? 

OLDO. 

'Tis  Dido  visits  thee  so  late, 
Queen  Ilda!  business  of  life  and  death 
Brings  me  to  thee,  while  down  below  is  revelry. 
The  prophet-seer  from  Palestine,  long  hid 
In  my  own  secret  chambers,  as  thou  know'st, 
For  fear  of  Inus'  vengeance,  did  refuse 
To  keep  his  hiding-place,  and  therefore  now 
Has  come  into  the  hands  of  Inus'  body-guards, 
Who  were  all  day  in  search  of  him. 

QUEEN  ILDA. 

Alas! 
No  mercy  will  be  shown  him. 

OLDO. 

Fears  he  not — 

But  would  devise  this  plan  likewise  to  save  thee. 
Overcome  with  wine,  the  keepers  of  the  gates 
Are  now  neglectful  of  their  watch.     Escape 
Then  by  the  palace-gate  is  possible, 
As  also,  egress  afterwards,  by  that 
WThich  is  now  situate,  at  the  eastern  end 
Of  our  devoted  city. 

QUEEN  ILDA. 

Certainly, 

Escape  thus  offered,  is  far  preferable 
To  this  imprisonment,  or  coming  death. 
We  thank  thee,  Oldo,  and  shall  hastily 
Make  effort  to  pass  through  the  sentinels. 

[Oldo  retires — and  the  Queen  with  her 
favourite  in  disguise,  makes  all  haste 
to  effect  her  escape. 


ACT 


SCENE  I. 

The  King's  banqueting-room  lighted  up  with  festal  splendour;  in  the  cen 
tre,  an  ivory  table  on  which  is  a  long  array  of  golden  cups  and  goblets ; 
a  canopy  of  golden  cloth  pavilions  the  whole ;  at  the  table  are  king  Inus 
and  his  lords,  with  Atys,  son  of  the  king  of  Balbec.  The  feast  begins 
when  late  at  night,  with  a  libation  to  the  Sun-god,  deity  of  Inus. 

KING  INUS. 
Unto  the  Sun-god,  guests!  it  first  behooves 

To  offer  a  libation. 

[  The  King,  rising  together  with  his  lords, 
pours  out  an  offering  to  his  idol. 

PRINCE  ATYS. 

Pledge  the  king — 
Long  live  King  Inus,  great  Palmyra's  sovereign! 

KING  INUS. 

Prince  Atys  next  demands  the  same  by  right, 
As  our  so  princely  guest  and  visiter. 

VAMPI. 

Health  to  the  King,  his  lords  and  ministers! 

And  revel  be  our  guiding  genius  here. 

f  Loud  shouts  are  heard  outside  the  ban 
queting  room,  when  one  of  the  guards 
enters  exultingly,  to  inform  the  King 
of  the  cause  of  the  noise. 


222  FALL  OF  PALMYRA. 

GUARD. 

King  Inus!  that  old  prophet-seer  is  found, 
And  by  thy  orders,  is  held  prisoner. 

KING  INUS. 

Hence!  hence!  away  with  that  cursed  prophet-seer, 
We  wish  no  more  of  his  vile  bodements  here. 
Bid  Oldo  starve  the  beasts,  and  when  'tis  day, 
To-morrow,  let  the  lions  feast  on  him. 

GUARD. 

I  go  to  execute  thy  order,  Sire! 

[Exit  the  guard. 

KING  INUS. 

The  guards  have  got  their  prize  to-night.     Right  glad 
Am  I  to  catch  that  prophet  villanous. 
Throughout  the  ways,  and  in  my  palaces, 
He  spread  such  terror  and  alarm,  by  words 
Of  his  dire  prophecy,  that  my  fair  Queen 
Submitted  to  his  cunning  influence. 

PRINCE  ATYS. 

The  villanous  seducer  caught,  set  free 
His  victim. 

KING  INUS. 

Ilda,  a  prisoner  yet 

In  her  remotest  chambers,  would  await 
The  hour  fix'd  on  to-morrow,  as  the  time 
To  learn  her  final  destiny.     Methinks 
She  does  full  well  deserve  like  punishment 
With  him  so  stubbornly  given  ear  to — 
Madly  I  loved  her — now  proved  perverse  too, 
Her  I  condemn  remorselessly.     And  love 
Too  great  is  here  a  cause  of  bitterness. 
She  minded  well  that  dotard's  words,  which  yet 
In  my  own  royal  ears,  ring  terribly. 
Prince  Atys!  thou  art  ignorant  of  all 
That  noisy  villain  said  to  us.     His  words 


ACT  IV. — SCENE  II.  223 

I  tell  as  best  I  may  remember  them : 

"  Ill-fated  King!  the  last  of  all  thy  line! 

Thy  empire  totters  to  decay.     Thy  fanes, 

Thy  gorgeous  palaces  shall  fall.     And  now, 

Above  thee  is  impending  wrath  divine. 

Lo!  desolation  deepest,  walking  oft 

With  noiseless  footsteps,  erelong  cometh  here, 

As  whirlwind  cometh.     Inus,  mighty  King! 

Palmyra  falls,  ne'er  to  be  built  again. 

Nor  shall  long  Time  uprear  barbaric  huts, 

Where  lie  the  ruins  of  thy  palaces — 

Majestic  desolation  here  shall  make 

Her  mystic  dwelling-place."     Such  his  vile  words. 

Yet  foams  the  rosy  wine — guests!  banish  fear, 

It  ill  beseems  our  present  time  of  jollity. 

The  ominous  we  think  of,  then,  to-morrow, 

Now  for  strains,  whose  echoes  wake  to  merriment. 

[Music  heard — Ina.leading  the  Queen's 
maidens,  dressed  like  sylphs  for  the 
festival,  enters  the  King's  banqueting 
room  with  dance  and  song.  The  King 
and  his  lords  rising,  join  in  the  dance, 
which  ended,  the  revellers  retire,  to 
repose. 


SCENE  II. 

The  King  in  his  royal  chamber,  going  to  rest,  is  interrupted  by  the  presence 
of  two  of  his  guards. 


KING  INUS. 


Now  to  my  couch,  as  weary  of  the  revel, 

As  ere  while  I  Ida  oft  was  wont  to  be. 

And  yet  why  cannot  revel  cheer  me?     Why, 

'Mid  merriment,  can  I  not  laugh  at  evil? 

That  prophet's  words  come  true — pshaw !   what  are  words? 

Mere  phantoms  of  the  brain — mere  echoes  now 

Of  no  reality.     Come,  gentle  sleep! 


224  FALL  OF  PALMYRA. 

And  chase  away  these  bodements  now  of  ill — 
Hark!  what  is  that?  here  come  my  body  guards. 

[Two  of  the  King's  guards  who  usually 
watch  his  rest}  enter  with  their  torches. 

GUARDS. 

The  Queen  has  fled  from  out  thy  palaces — 
And  in  disguise,  while  all  were  revelling, 
It  seems  pass'd  through  the  outer  gates, 
Where  stand  thy  ever-wakeful  sentinels. 

KING  INUS. 

Then  by  the  morning  light  go  in  pursuit 
Of  her. 

[Exit  the  King's  guards — and  the  King 
lies  down  on  his  couch. 


ACT    V. 


SCENE  I. 

The  Sun-god's  procession  takes  place  before  offering  the  victim — first  come 
the  flamens  of  the  temple,  all  aged,  with  heads  hoary  as  the  snow — 
next  comes  the  vehicle  with  the  supposed  prophet,  who,  according  to 
custom,  is  veiled  over  with  a  white  covering.  The  prophet  himself,  al 
lowed  by  Oldo  to  escape,  a  criminal  of  the  same  age  and  appearance  has 
been  substituted  in  his  place.  The  King's  chariot,  drawn  by  six  black 
Arabians,  comes  now  attended  by  the  body  guards — the  lords  of  Palmyra 
follow — and  the  throng  enters  the  temple. 


SCENE  II. 

The  vast  aisles  of  the  temple  are  filled — the  devotees  fall  down  in  adora 
tion  of  the  flame  upon  the  marble  altar.  While  the  rites  are  in  silence 
performing,  they  are  interrupted  by  an  unusual  appearance,  which  is 
the  Demon  of  the  coming  storm. 

KING  INUS. 

Who  art  thou? 

DEMON. 

I  am  the  Demon  of  the  Storm — 
The  shadow  of  thy  coming  destiny — 
I  shake  the  hills  with  the  might  of  my  wrath, 
And  cities  sink,  howling  in  ruin  under  me; 
Remorselessly  I  tread  them  down,  by  right 
Of  my  divine  commission. 
15 


226  FALL  OF  PALMYRA. 

KING  INUS. 

Demon!  away! 

DEMON. 

I  laugh  thee  to  scorn.     For  heaven  around, 
With  earth  which  gapes  below,  is  peopled  now 
With  monster  fiends  like  me.     The  gusty  storm 
Of  fiery  mist  is  breaking  now  just  at  thy  feet — 
Behold  the  shapes  within  it!  darkness  now 
Shall  wrap  in  lasting  night  Palmyra's  kingless  throne. 
Ye  congregated  powers  of  air,  who  share  my  throne 
Of  glory!  follow  me. 

[The  Demon  of  the  storm  with  phantom 
shapes  around  himdisappears — u  The 
angel- of  death  has  now  spread  his 
wings  on  the  blast."  The  heavens 
seem  overcast  with  a  thick  pyramidal 
cloud  of  fire,  the  precursor  of  the  Si 
moom  or  terrific,  poisonous  wind 
from  the  desert.  The  rumbling  of 
earthquake  accompanies  it— King 
Inus  swoons — the  crowd  rushes  out, 
ivhen  the  storm  passes  by,  and  all  are 
breathless  corpses. 


MORAL. 

The  fate  of'  Palmyra  teaches  us  again,  the  lesson  that  God  is  a  jealous 
God,  and  will  not  suffer  his  glory  to  be  given  to  another,  nor  his  worship 
to  graven  images.  He  is  God,  and  beside  him  there  is  none  else. 


NOTES 


THE  FALL  OF  PALMYRA 


NOTE  1.— 

The  ruins  of  Palmyra,  with  those  of  her  far-famed  sister  city  of  Balbec, 
are  full  of  intense  interest  to  the  inquisitive  traveller.  In  seeking  for 
them,  the  stranger  must  hasten  through  a  hot  and  thirsty  land,  where 
no  Oasis  in  the  desert  would  induce  him  to  linger.  The  Sun,  the  deity 
to  which  profound  adoration  was  once  paid,  seems  to  linger  there,  how 
ever,  with  fiercer  glory.  His  first  and  latest  purple  beams  fall  on  the 
melancholy  ruins.  Here  and  there,  seated  on  some  fallen  shaft  or  capital, 
the  Arab  may  smoke  his  pipe,  while  twilight  is  stealing  over  the  mournful 
scene  of  desolation.  What  to  him  is  the  magnificence  of  past  ages,  or 
.  the  generations  who  laboured  and  died  there  !  In  beholding  this  scene  of 
the  Almighty's  visitation — the  mind  would  ask — who  is  mightier  than 
the  Angel,  at  the  rushing  of  whose  wings  the  nations  are  afraid. 

NOTE  2.—  • 

The  most  fatal  blast  to  which  the  inhabitants  of  the  East  are  subject,  is 
known  by  the  name  of  the  Simoom  or  Samiel.  Travellers  thus  describe  it. 
After  the  air  has  been  unusually  heated  for  several  days,  the  sky  sudden 
ly  loses  its  serenity,  and  becomes  lurid  and  gloomy,  while  the  Sun  as 
sumes  a  violet  colour.  The  approach  of  the  Simoom  is  rapid,  and  indicated 
by  a  redness  of  the  entire  atmosphere,  and  when  near,  it  resembles  a 
sheet  of  purple-coloured  smoke,  moving  in  a  direct  line  over  the  earth. 
It  is  probable  that  by  such  a  blast,  Sennacherib's  army  was  destroyed. 
Signs  of  the  coming  event,  were  generally  visible  before  its  occurrence,  as 
also  premonitors  of  the  storm.  In  the  days  of  Elijah,  a  cloud  like  a  man's 
hand,  rising  from  the  sea,  was  the  sign  of  a  hurricane  of  wind  and  rain. 


MINOR   POEMS. 


MINOR   POEMS. 


RUINS  OF  BALBEC. 

Balbec  is  a  world  of  ruins.  Together  with  Palmyra,  she  flourished  in  the 
days  of  Solomon.  The  Sun-god,  to  whom  the  great  temple  had  been 
erected,  was  the  chief  deity  of  the  fire-worshippers.  Of  all  the  ruins, 
no  isolated  portion  is  so  exceedingly  beautiful,  as  the  six  detached  pil 
lars  of  the  great  temple.  There  is  around  them  an  air  so  inexpressibly 
mournful,  that  the  beholder  feels  as  if  he  could  sit  down  at  their  base 
and  shed  tears.  Near  thirty  centuries  have  rolled  away,  since  their 
erection,  for  they  stood  when  Solomon  built  Hamath  and  Tadmor  of  the 
desert. 

I. 

On  Balbec's  plain  alone  methought  I  stood, 
And  saw  her  time-struck  temples  as  they  lay 
In  fragments  round  nae;  as  the  wreck  of  wood, 
Through  which  a  settler  hews  his  stubborn  way, 
To  find  a  dwelling-place.     Here  dread  decay, 
Wrought  by  the  ruthless  iron  hand  of  Time, 
Whose  scythe,  destructive,  is  at  work  for  aye, 
And  shall  be,  till  God's  fire  purge  off  all  crime, 
Makes  fall  tfie  gorgeous  temples — monuments  sublime. 

n. 

Upon  the  relics  of  the  mouldering  pile 

Of  this  old  city's  ruins,  long  I  gaze, 

And  moralize  upon  the  past  awhile, 

Beneath  the  midnight  moon's  pale  silvery  rays, 

Which  whiten  all  the  ancient  city's  ways. 


232  MINOR  POEMS. 

Now,  silent  as  the  pathways  of  the  dead; 

No  voice — save  th'  owlet's  cry,  which  lonely  strays, 

Along  the  temple's  aisles,  whence  all  are  fled, 

Who  came  to  worship  here,  with  superstitious  dread. 


in. 

Here  once  along  the  streets  in  solemn  throngs, 
Pass'd  the  majestic  worshippers  of  fire; 
Unto  the  Sun-god  proffering  their  songs 
Of  adoration — cymbal,  drum,  and  lyre, 
Accompaniments.     The  Almighty  Sire, 
Who  dwelleth  not  in  temples  made  with  hands; 
The  universe  his  fane — bade  them  retire, 
Their  temple  overturning,  which  to  lands 
Afar  and  near,  a  miracle  of  ruin  stands. 


IV. 

All  had  not  fallen.     Rising  'gainst  the  sky, 

One  mighty  temple's  ruin  high  uprears, 

Six  time-struck  pillars.     Truly  to  the  eye, 

Unutterable  loneliness  appears 

To  hold  her  dismal  court.     We  shed  the  tears 

Of  sorrow,  o'er  the  wrecks  of  Time.     WTe  fall, 

Poor  sorrowing  victims  to  the  lapse  of  years, — 

E'en  cities'  mighty  edifices  all,     . 

Yield  to  Time's  ravages, — with  darkness  as  their  pall. 


Behold!   wild  vines,  and  weeds,  and  ivy  green, 

WYeathe  the  rich  pillars,  desolate  and  old, 

Though  still  magnificent  as  they  had  been 

Before  their  temple's  fall.     And,  stern  and  bold, 

They  yet  their  Maker's  skill  and  power  unfold, 

While  others'  capitals,  on  all  sides  round, 

Lie  thick  as  bones  of  men  on  other  roll'd 

Upon  some  warrior's  mighty  battle-ground, 

Where  heroes  fell  to  sleep  till  the  last  trump  shall  sound. 


RUINS  OF  BALBEC.  233 

VI. 

Thus  to  the  skies,  his  structures,  proud  man  rears, 

Hoping  to  leave  an  ever-during  name 

Behind  him.     Vain,  alas!  both  hopes  and  fears 

Of  him  who  worships  sublunary  fame; 

For  "  All  is  vanity  " — inscribed  appears, 

Save  on  his  works,  whose  fame.beyond  the  skies, 

Soars  ever  onward;  or  whose  country's  tears 

Bedew  his  grave;  as  when  a  good  man  dies, 

In  whom  is  all  the  wisdom  of  one  truly  wise. 

VII. 

But  Balbec  is  no  more;  nor  Babylon, 

Nor  Nineveh  of  old,  which  soars  sublime. 

The  sand  of  their  time-measurers  had  run; 

So  fall  the  nations  in  th?  appointed  time, 

Judged  by  their  deeds,  and  punish'd  for  their  crime. 

Nations,  as  moral  persons  have  their  day, 

Their  God  hath  fix'd.     They  die  to  live  in  rhyme 

Of  poets;  who,  to  all,  their  wonted  tribute  pay 

In  verse  not  perishing,  and  knowing  no  decay. 

VIII. 

Yet,  in  his  noiseless  car,  old  father  Time, 
With  frosts  of  centuries  upon  his  brow, 
Goes  on  destroyingly.     Man's  works,  sublime, 
Crumble  before  him.     Nations,  ruin'd,  bow 
Beneath  his  tread.     Another  year,  and  now 
He  points  to  coming  destinies.     His  hand, 
Though  tremulous,  shall  lay  all  nations  low. 
Time's  things  are  vanity.     Thence  understand 
To  lay  up  treasures — in  the  upper,  better  land. 


234  MINOR  POEMS. 


BATTLE  OF  LEIPSIC. 


Near  Leipsic,  as  the  shades  of  night, 
Are  drawing  o'er  the  pleasant  light, 
The  eye  discerns  the  awful  sight, 
Of  men  in  dread  hostility. 

n. 

But  thickly  falls  the  wetting  rain, 
When  cannon  roar  on  Leipsic's  plain, 
And  booming  shots  again,  again, 
Burst  from  the  dread  artillery. 

in. 

The  vengeful  Cossacks  now  appear, 
To  scatter  consternation,  fear, 
And  boldly  to  the  Franks  draw  near, 
To  charge  their  proud  artillery. 

IV. 

And  round  them  spread  the  shades  of  night, 
When  for  a  time  they  cease  the  fight, 
And  Cossacks  off  their  steeds  alight, 
Which  gallop  round  so  fearfully. 

v. 

The  cannon's  thunder  still  more  near, 
In  loud  percussions  strikes  the  ear, 
When  Austrians,  Prussians,  then  appear. 
The  Franks  retreating  hastily. 

VI. 

And  louder  yet  the  shouts  arose, 
Where  warriors  on  the  plains  repose, 
Whose  eyes  in  death,  then  sealing,  close, 
Amid  the  shouts  of  victory. 


BATTLE  OF  LEIPSIC.  235 

VII. 

The  Franks  are  routed  on  the  plain, 
And  thousands  fall  amid  the  slain, 
And  louder  cries  are  heard  again, 
With  louder  cries  of  victory. 

VIII. 

Three  bloody  days  the  en'mies  fought, 
And  to  an  end  their  contest  brought, 
When  great  Napoleon  had  been  taught, 
To  feel  the  Allies'  bravery. 

IX. 

His  glorious  laurels  now  are  fled, 
His  warriors  sleep  amid  the  dead; 
E'en  they  who  had  at  Dresden  said, 
Napoleon  fights  invincibly. 


The  bloody  carnage  then  is  o'er, 
And  cannon's  thunder  ceased  to  roar, 
And  Cossacks'  shouts  are  heard  no  more, 
Where  warriors  fell  so  gloriously. 

XI. 

Then  weep,  0  Leipsic  !  o'er  the  slain, 
Who  fell  upon  thy  battle  plain, 
And  covered  with  a  bloody  stain, 

Thy  fields,  which  once  look'd  pleasantly 

XII. 

Weep !  for  the  tide  of  war  roll'd  there, 
And  bloody  horrors  fill'd  the  air, 
While  warriors  to  their  graves  repair, 
Amid  the  shouts  of  victory. 


236  MINOR  POEMS. 


THE    SIX    SEALS. 


KEV.  vi. 


And  I  saw.  when  the  Lamb  opened  one  of  the  seals;  and  I  heard,  as  it 
were,  the  noise  of  thundery  and  I  saw,  and  behold  a  white  horse;  and  He 
that  sat  on  him  had  a  bow,  and  a  crown  was  given  unto  him ;  and  he  went 
forth  conquering  and  to  conquer. 

The  Lamb  of  God  unfolds  the  fatal  scroll ; 

The  heavens  shake — and  mighty  thunders  roll — 

The  first  seal  opes — forth  comes  a  steed  like  snow, 

In  colour  white,  but  fierce  to  meet  the  foe. 

Lo!  on  him  sat  an  archer  great  and  strong, 

With  quiver  full  of  arrows  sharp  and  long. 

A  golden  bow  his  left  hand  fast  embraced ; 

His  right  upon  the  string,  and  arrow  placed  ; 

Prepares  to  pierce  the  rebels  to  our  king, 

And  in  subjection,  all  his  en'mies  bring. 

His  head  a  golden  crown  of  glory  wears ; 

His  ensign  victory  and  conquest  bears. 

A  conquering  hero,  onward  still  he  goes, 

And  down  before  Him   fall  his  stubborn  foes. 

For  He,  heaven,  earth,  seas,  hell,  doth  now  reign  o'er, 

And  shall,  when  Time's  long  ages  are  no  more. 

The  second  loosed — forth  comes  a  steed  like  blood, 

Which  prancing  onward  restless  as  a  flood, 

Devours,  and  carries  awful  death  afar, 

In  cruel,  bloody,  desolating  war, 

Then  rushing  onward  like  the  wind  he  flew, 

While  on  him  sat  the  Faithful  and  the  True, 

Who  in  his  hand,  firm  grasps  a  mighty  sword, 

Wherewith  to  conquer,  and  proclaim  his  word. 

Before  him  nations  frighted,  fear  and  quake, 

And  sinners  with  great  terror,  trembling  shake. 

The  third  seal  loosed — and  lo!  mine  eyes  behold, 

A  horse  of  sable  hue,  yet  fierce  and  bold; 

Significant  of  famine  on  the  lands; 


THE  SIX  SEALS.  237 

When  now  strict  Justice  in  her  equal  hands, 

Her  balances  upraised  to  weigh  out  corn; 

Till  scarcity  disappear,  and  plenty  fill  her  horn. 

Thus  war  brings  wasting  famine  on,  and  death  ; 

And  by  disease,  man  spent  resigns  his  breath. 

The  fourth  seal  opens—and  behold  I  see, 

A  pallid  horse  rush  on  to  victory. 

His  rider  Death — hell  follows  him  again, 

To  swallow  up  the  corses  of  the  slain; 

Who  fall  by  famine,  or  disease  or  war, 

Or  plague  or  pestilence  now  spread  afar. 

The  fifth  seal  opens — and  I  see  again, 

The  souls  of  many  martyrs,  who  were  slain  ; 

When  witnessing  for  truth  or  Jesus'  word; 

The  same  before  the  altar  now  are  heard, 

Exclaiming,  Lord  our  God!  again  how  long, 

Wilt  thou  forbear  on  earth  t'  avenge  our  wrong? 

I  saw  these  souls,  who  just  before  were  sad, 

Come  nigh  the  throne,  in  robes  of  victory  clad, 

I  heard  their  Saviour  bid  them  now  repose, 

Till  this  great  drama  should  be  nigh  its  close. 

The  sixth  seal  opes — more  awful  scenes  I  see, 

Strange  sights  foretold  by  ancient  prophecy, 

A  mighty  earthquake  shakes  each  distant  land, 

And  all  earth's  residents  affrighted  stand. 

The  sun  in  heaven  has  nearly  run  his  race, 

And  darkest  sackcloth  overspreads  his  face. 

The  moon  behind  him,  blushing  looks  like  blood, 

And  all  the  stars,  that  round  about  her  stood  ; 

As  if  affrighted  from  their  places  flee, 

Like  as  untimely  figs  fall  from  their  tree ; 

When  shaken  by  the  wind  or  raging  storm, 

Or  tempest  in  her  dire  terrific  form. 

And  now,  behold !  the  captive  is  set  free, 

From  pagan  night,  and  Satan's  slavery. 

Hark  !  now  the  prisoner  no  more  complains, 

Of  iron  shackles,  or  of  galling  chains. 

Lo !  gloomy  despots  prostrate  down  are  driven, 

While  earth  convulsed  is  to  her  centre  riven, 

And  mighty  captains,  and  the  great  men  all, 


238  MINOR  POEMS. 

In  terror  wild,  and  consternation  fall, 
Or  to  the  rocks,  and  lofty  mountains  cry, 
Now  to  be  cover'd  from  their  Maker's  eye. 
His  piercing  glance,  the  creature  cannot  stand, 
His  eye  is  every  where,  o'er  every  land. 


THE  RED  MAN. 

0  pity  the  fate  of  the  high-minded  Indian, 
Now  driven  afar  from  his  dear  native  land  ! 
For  the  wretched,  and  poor,  benighted  American, 
Falls  now  by  the  white  man's  unmerciful  hand. 

Hark  !  how  he  cries  to  his  father's  Great  Spirit, 
Who  shall  in  his  time  redress  his  sad  wrong — 

O 

Imploring  he  cries — once  more  to  "inherit. 

The  lands  which  in  justice  to  him  should  belong. 

We  pray  thee,  Great  Spirit !  once  more  to  restore  us, 
The  lands  which  our  fathers  so  long  had  possess'd — 
Restore  us — restore  us — we  pray  thee  restore  us, 
And  let  us  not  wander,  forlorn  and  distrest. 

No  arm,  but  the  arm  of  the  Mighty  can  save  us, 
Or  bring  us  again  to  our  dear  native  home; 
No  hand,  but  thine  own,  can  ever  relieve  us, 
To  rob  the  poor  Indian,  the  white  men  have  come. 

Sad  is  the  fate  of  our  ill-treated  nation, 
Now  banish'd  afar  to  a  wild  rocky  shore — 
Grant  then,  we  pray  thee,  Oh!  grant  us  salvation. 
From  en'mies  who  rage,  and  incessantly  roar. 


LINES  ON  RINGGOLD,  CLAY,  AND  OTHERS.  239 

LINES  ON  RINGGOLD,  CLAY,  AND  OTHERS, 

WHO  FELL  ON  THE  WAR-PLAINS  OF  MEXICO. 

Columbia!  hail!  -thy  sons,  a  noble  band, 

Shall  still  around  fair  Freedom's  altar  stand — 

Hark  to  the  knell  from  Palo  Alto's  shore.' 

The  brave,  the  gallant  Ringgold  is  no  more. 

Bleeding  he  fell,  Columbia's  hopeful  star, 

Where  now  triumphant  rolls  the  war-god's  car. 

In  Freedom's  annals,  still,  his  name  shall  claim 

A  foremost  place,  'mong  those  of  martial  fame, 

Whose  dirge  the  war-notes,  and  whose  "  bier  the  shield," 

Wliose  watch-word,  "  Victory,"  we  never  yield. 

For  him  we  mourn,  and  also  too  for  thee, 

Thou  son  of  Clay,  the  friend  of  Liberty. 

Oh !  may  the  laurel  and  the  myrtle  wave, 

For  ever,  o'er  thy  young  and  gallant  grave. 

And  gentle  Spring!  come  thou  to  deck  his  tomb, 

Who  fell  in  all  his  beauty  and  his  bloom. 

And  thou,  fair  Victory!  weeping  too,*draw  nigh, 

While  patriots'  tears  descend,  and  virgins  sigh. 

"Ye  steel-clad  bands!  ye  white-robed  fair  attend! 

Columbia's  boast!  th'  intrepid  warrior's  friend!  " 

While  glory  smiles  to  see  Columbia's  fame, 

Enroll'd  among  the  first  of  martial  name; 

Lament  for  him,  whose  valour  led  him  on, 

To  be  a  guiding  star,  like  Washington. 

Lament  for  those,  who  braved  the  storm  of  death, 

And  for  their  country's  rights  pour'd  out  their  breath. 

Where  was  the  reddest  vintage  of  the  grave? 

Where  feasted  slaughter  on  the  good  and  brave? 

Then  let  the  harps,  their  solemn  plaintive  tones, 

Pour  forth  responsive  to  the  warrior's  groans, 

Who  while  the  notes  now  tremble  on  the  wires, 

Gash'd  with  the  scars  of  glory,  now  expires. 

Lo!  from  the  honour'd  dust  the  laurels  bloom, 

Glory's  proud  temple  is  the  soldier's  tomb. 


240  MINOR  POEMS. 

ELEGY  ON  A.  M1EOD,  D.D., 

LATE  PASTOR  OF  THE  FIRST  REFORMED  PRESBYTERIAN  CHURCH  OF  NEW  YORK. 

Shall  the  harp  be  now  sile"nt,  which  once  in  sweet  numbers, 

By  Israel's  king,  was  stricken  of  yore? 
Ah!  no,  it  shall  not,  though  minstrelsy  slumbers, 

.In  feebleness  strike  it,  oh!  strike  it  once  more. 

Thy  silver-toned  voice,  once  heard  with  such  wonder, 
Shall  no  more  so  mellifluous  fall  on  our  ear; 

Nor  accents  which  flowing  with  sweetness  and  thunder, 
Could  bring  the  enchantment  of  scenery  near. 

Methinks  now  I  see  thee,  when  often  depicting, 
The  deaths  of  the  martyrs  of  Scotia's  fair  land — 

Who  fought  for  the  truth,  in  trials  afflicting, 
And  stood  in  their  firmness,  a  valorous  band. 

'Twas  then  that  thy  voice  re-echoed  in  thunder, 

And  accents  terrific,  then  fell  on  our  ear; 
The  hearer  was  roused,  astonish'd  in  wonder, 

The  feelings  awaken'd — the  eye  shed  a  tear. 

I 

But  no  more  shall  be  heard  those  accents  of  sweetness, 
Which  fell  from  thy  lips,  thou  soldier  of  love: 

Thou  hast  fought  the  good  fight,  and  hast  now  in  meekness, 
Ascended  to  join  the  assembly  above. 

With  saints  who  long  time  had  ascended  before  thee, 
Thy  converse  shall  lasting,  and  rapturous  be ; 

With  the  first-born  in  heaven,  and  martyrs  in  glory, 
Thine  eyes  beatifical  visions  shall  see. 

Oh!  when  then  He  comes  with  the  voice  of  His  thunder. 
And  trump  of  th'  Archangel  to  waken  the  dead — 

When  the  bars  of  the  grave  shall  be  riven  asunder, 
May'st  thou  with  the  captives  of  glory  be  led. 

The  crown  of  salvation,  and  glory  extending, 
Thy  hand  on  the  gold  harp  of  glory  shall  rest, 

In  a  white  robe  of  glory,  before  the  throne  bending, 
Thou  singest  for  ever  the  song  of  the  blest. 


OR,  THE  PRINCE  OF  GILEAD's  VOW.  241 


ELLA;  OR,  THE  PRINCE  OF  GILEAD'S  VOW. 

And  he  did  with  her  according  to  his  vow,  and  it  was  a  custom  in  Israel, 
that  the  daughters  of  Israel  went  yearly  to  lament  the  daughter  of  Jeph- 
tha,  the  Gileadite,  four  days  in  a  year. 


From  Mizpeh's  heights  there  rode  a  form, 
A  warrior  princely,  bold  and  brave; 
His  visage  gloomy  as  the  storm, 
His  brow  as  clouded  as  the  grave. 

ii. 

It  was  a  lovely  summer  day, 
When  down  the  hills  the  soldier  went; 
And  Sol  was  shedding  his  first  ray, 
O'er  hill,  and  tower,  and  battlement. 

in.. 

Refulgently  his  armour  shone. 
For  burnished  mail  the  stranger  wore ; 
And  his  proud  falchion  did  alone, 
Give  proof  of  its  desire  for  gore. 

IV. 

A  mighty  man  of  war  he  seem'd, 
In  every  turn  and  movement  then, 
And  such  each  passing  stranger  deem'd, 
This  mystery  we  resolve  again. 

v. 

But  prancingly  his  steed  went  on, 
Rejoicing  'neath  his  weighty  load  ; 
Till  he  away  far  south  had  gone, 
Wherefore  his  weapon  now  forebode. 

VI. 

A  lovely  daughter  left  at  home, 
Sat  weeping,  lest  some  ill  befall 
16 


242  MINOR  POEMS. 

Her  father  gone  afar  to  roam, 
A  chieftain  at  his  country's  call. 

VII. 

The  mystic  warrior  made  a  vow, 
Which  in  his  breast  a  secret  lay; 
Till  Ammon's  armies  made  to  bow, 
Saw  him  again  wend  home  his  way. 

VIII. 

Then  Ella  with  her  tuneful  lyre, 
And  dancing  maidens,  came  to  meet 
Her  long  expected  victor  sire, 
And  greeted  him  with  kisses  sweet. 

IX. 

But  ah  !  how  changed  is  her  sire's  brow  ! 
Nor  smile,  nor  blessing  there  appears ; 
His  fated  daughter  meets  him  now, 
And  downward  fall -the  manly  tears. 

x. 

According  to  his  awful  vow, 
The  mighty  Jephtha  did  perform 
The  sacrifice,  which  even  now, 
Might  wake  the  terrors  of  a  storm. 

XI. 

Upon  the  bloody  altar  lay 
The  daughter  of  proud  Gilead's  son  ; 
The  tale  shall  be  rehearsed  alway, 
With  laurels  that  her  father  won. 

XII. 

Four  times  a  year  the  maidens  dress 
Fair  Ella's  sad,  untimely  grave ; 
Four  times  a  year  they  show  distress, 
For  her  the  daughter  of  the  brave. 


THE  GLORY  OF  THE  LATTER  DAYS.        243 


THE  GLORY  OF  THE  LATTER  DAYS. 

The  desert  land  shall  sweetly  bloom, 

The  wildernesses  joyful  be, 
For  Christ  is  risen  from  the  tomb, 

To  set  e'en  heathen  people  free. 

Though  they  in  deepest  darkness  live; 

In  Satan's  iron  fetters  lie — 
Yet  soon  the  Lord  his  grace  shall  give, 

That  Heathens  may  triumphant  die. 

Hell's  sable  banners  though  unfurl'd, 
Wide  streaming  o'er  the  earth  afar, 

Shall  to  the  dust  be  quickly  hurl'd — 
When  comes  the  brighter  morning  star. 

Lo!  Satan's  realms  in  pieces  rending, 

Tremble  at  Messiah's  frown, 
Whose  angel  now  in  wrath  descending, 

Drives  Apollyon's  fortress  down. 

The  Dragon's  strength  is  naught  availing, 
'Gainst  the  Saviour,  Lord  of  might, 

And  conquer'd  he,  then  loudly  wailing, 
Goeth  down  to  darkest  night. 

A 'thousand  years  shall  circle  round, 
While  he  in  darkness  lieth  bound — 
Then  loosed  again  a  little  season, 

He  shall  fill  the  earth  with  fear; 
Again  remanded  to  his  prison, 

God  in  judgment  shall  appear. 

Seated  on  his  throne  of  whiteness, 

He  in  majesty  shall  come — 
Surrounded  with  celestial  brightness, 

He  shall  call  his  ransom'd  home. 


244  MINOR  POEMS. 

This  mighty  drama  then  shall  close, 
And  earth,  and  heavens  flee  away, 

The  Sun,  which  in  past  ages  rose, 
Shall  rise  not  on  this  awful  day. 

Oh!  happy  then  the  saved  shall  be, 
They  shall  before  their  Saviour  stand; 

And  in  Emmanuel's  city  see, 
The  ransom'd  out  of  every  land. 

They  shall  God's  city  then  behold, 
With  gates  of  pearl — and  streets  of  gold — 
And  loud  hosannahs  to  their  King, 
All  of  the  Redeem'd  shall  sing; 
Worthy  is  the  great  I  Am — 
Worthy,  worthy,  is  the  Lamb. 


PASSION  FLOWER. 

This  plant  is  said  to  have  been  found,  on  the  morning  ensuing  the  Cru 
cifixion. 

Dear  emblem  of  redeeming  blood, 
Of  Him  by  cruel  men  distrest! 
Within  the  petals  of  thy  bud, 
I  see  salvation's  sorrows  rest. 

The  cross — the  crown  of  thorns  I  see; 
The  bloody  nails — the  Roman  spear — 
The  sign  of  immortality, 
And  glorious  halo  there  appear. 

The  Latin  authors  mention  flowers  inscribed  with  the  names  of  kings. 
The  passion  flower  is  emblazoned  with  the  marks  of  Emmanuel,  the 
bleeding  Prince  of  life.  In  this  wonderful  flower,  read  a  tragedy  of  wo. 
The  spiral  tendril  represents  the  scourge  which  tore  his  flesh — there  are 
the  nails — the  hammer — the  thorns — the  glory  in  double  rays.  This 
plant  has  exhibited  in  it,  then,  the  sufferings  of  the  Plant  of  Renown. 


THE  HEAVENS  DECLARE  THE  IMMORTALITY  OF  MAN.  245 


THE  HEAYENS   DECLARE   THE   IMMORTALITY   OF    MAN. 


Wherefore,  ye  orbs  !  which  onward  nightly  roll, 

In  the  far  sky,  call'd  He  you  out  of  naught  ? 

Begirding  you  with  light  from  pole  to  pole, 

As  with  a  garment  curiously  wrought? 

With  intellectual  wisdom  never  fraught — 

0  stars!  ye  cannot  now  to  man  declare 

The  mystery  of  your  birth.     One  not  self-taught, 

Would  sing — who  made  you  pendulous  in  air, 

Made  you  for  his  own  glory,  by  his  wisdom's  care. 

n. 

Thou  glorious  central  orb !  whose  way 

Is  through  immensity — whose  lofty  throne, 

Is  in  th'  interminable  blue,  for  aye 

Too,  fix'd  immovably.      Shalt  thou  alone, 

With  golden  splendour  ever  shine?    Man's  own 

Pure  intellectual  rays,  shall  they  expire, 

To  be  lit  up  no  more?     His  spirit  flown, 

Goes  it  no  whither?    Unto  his  great  Sire, 

Who  lit  thy  lamp,  0  Sun  !  and  compass'd  thee  with  fire. 

in. 

Lo  !  man's  fair  habitation  may  dissolve; 

And  into  dark  oblivion,  thou  may'st  pass, 

0  Sun !  and  planets  too,  no  more  revolve, 

In  mystic  circles  round  thee;  and  alas! 

Nature  with  her  immeasurable  mass 

Of  worlds  on  worlds,  wherewith  'tis  shown, 

By  the  far-seeing  astronomic  glass, 

Star-gazers  use — yon  azure  vault  is  sown. 

Yea — she  may  perishing  expire  with  dying  groan  — 


246  MINOR  POEMS. 

IV. 

Crush'd  by  the  adamantine  grasp  of  Time; 
Yet  the  proud  fabric  of  the  human  soul, 
Undying  shall  survive,  and  tower  sublime, 
O'er  his  omnipotence.     His  dread  control, 
Who  unrestrainedly,  from  pole  to  pole, 
Now  sways  his  iron  sceptre  here  afar, 
Shall  end,  when  this  fair  world  shall  cease  to  roll, — 
But  death  and  sad  decay  shall  never  mar 
•The  spirits  blest  in  happiness  which  ever  are. 

y. 

Along  the  sapphire-colour'd  road,  angelic  feet, 

SandalPd  with  immortality,  now  tread 

Hither  and  thither — to  and  fro,  the  seat 

Of  God — and  blessed  souls  of  honoured  dead, 

Escap'd  from  mortal-thrall;  'tis  often  said, 

Look  smilingly,  and  view  us  from  on  high, 

As  speedily  by  angel  guidance  led, 

They  pass  along  the  starry  spangled  sky, 

Which  we  on  earth,  now  seek  to  scan  with  eager  eye. 

VI. 

Why,  0  my  soul !  to  thee  is  large  desire 

Of  endless  being?  Is  the  wish  then  vain  ? 

Implanted  in  thee  by  the  omnific  Sire, 

To  form  thy  constant  punishment  and  pain? 

No — Heaven  forbid  !  man  justly  might  complain, 

Of  God  not  good — unkind — were  he  to  be, 

With  wishes  never  realized  again ; 

The  wish  for  being  man  can  clearly  see, 

Forebodes  a  life  enduring  as  eternity. 


THE  NEWSMAN'S  ADDRESS.  247 


THE   NEWS-MAN'S   ADDRESS. 

Sweet  spirit  of  the  press!  we  bid  thee  hail ! 

By  thee  both  civil  liberty  and  right, 

Exert  untrammelPd  power.     Proud  tyrants  quail 

Before  thee;  and  'gainst  thee  have  fought  with  might ; 

For  why?  who  is  made  free  by  thy  fair  light, 

"  Is  free."     Palladium  thou  of  liberty  ! 

And  at  thy  shrine,  we  kneel  with  fond  delight — 

Because  of  good  or  evil,  know-ledge  is  from  thee, 

Whereby  more  wise  we  live — live  for  eternity. 

Lo  !  in  America  the  press  is  free ! 

Her  mighty  clarion  voice  afar  and  near, 

O'er  hill  and  dale  resounding,  liberty ! 

The  Bible  and  the  Press — each  rolling  year, 

Speak  with  a  voice  of  thunder  to  the  ear 

Of  a  still  dreaming  world.     A  holiday 

Of  death  to  all,  who  yet  on  earth  appear 

Wrapt  up  in  lethargy.     Lo!  comes  the  day, 

When  man  shall  work  no  more — that  day,  eternity. 

What  have  her  pages  told  ?  of  famine  dire, 

In  fury  stalking  over  other  lands, 

Of  desolation  in  the  land  of  ire; 

Her  people  too  with  supplicating  hands, 

Held  out  for  aid,  to  us  where  plenty  stands, 

With  her  full  horn — and  angel-like  bestows. 

Or  has  she  told  of  Mexic's  treacherous  bands, 

And  how  our  gallant  army  fought  with  those, 

Till  thousands  fell — who  now  on  battle  plains  repose. 

Lo !  where  far  south  the  war-god's  bloody  car, 
Rolls  on  triumphantly.     Columbia's  fame; 
The  valiant  Ringgold  falling  like  a  star 
Of  glory,  brilliantly  exalts.      Whose  name 
In  Freedom's  annals,  proudly  still  may  claim 


248  MINOR  POEMS. 

A  foremost  place,  'mong  those  who  softly  lie, 

On  Palo  Alto's  plain — whose  meed  the  same, 

Of  glory.     Gloriously  they  sought  to  die — 

Their  requiem  then  be  sung — while  trumpet  notes  reply 

Yet  happiness  to  all !  while  the  young  year, 

Heralds  his  coming  with  the  wintry  wind, 

Whose  mournful  music  does  the  dirge  appear, 

Of  that  just  dead.     Alas!  alas!  how  blind 

Is  man — if  still  unto  his  God  unkind, 

For  mercies  shown.     While,  lo!  afar  fell  blight, 

On  herb  and  tree — strike  terror  to  the  mind 

Of  man — while  plague  so  dire  makes  his  delight, 

In  walking  secretly  with  pestilence  by  night. 


NAVICULA. 

See  the  frail  little  bark, 

How  it  skims  o'er  the  ocean! 
And  mounts  up  the  billows, 

In  wildest  commotion. 

See  the  sails  all  unfurling, 

Expanding  in  air  — 
The  waves  also  curling, 

From  under  it  there. 

By  the  help  of  the  breeze, 
And  the  mariner's  hand — 

It  crosses  the  seas, 
To  a  far  distant  land. 

Discharging  its  cargo, 

Returneth  again, 
To  cross  the  wide  ocean, 

And  boisterous  main. 


NELSONI  MORS.  249 


ODE— NELSONI  MORS. 

The  talents  and  amor  patrise  of  the  noble  Nelson,  have  not  been  overrated 
by  his  biographers.  His  whole  soul  centred  in  his  country's  glory.  In 
every  fray  he  left  a  piece  of  his  body,  to  attest  the  fact  of  his  own  per 
sonal  bravery.  He  stood  victor  at  the  Nile — and  victor  at  the  battle  of 
Trafalgar,  in  which  he  was  mortally  wounded. 

Near  Trafalgar's  rocky  shore, 
Where  her  cape  projects  to  sea — 
Loud  is  heard  the  cannon's  roar, 
And  loud  the  shout  of  victory. 

Gallia's  haughty  fleet  is  routed, 
Sunk  and  driven  o'er  the  plain — 
Britain  there  had  her  defeated, 
Though  she  saw  her  hero  slain.. 

The  noble,  valiant  Nelson, 
Fell  wounded  mortally; 
And  Britain  lost  her  bravest  son, 
Amid  the  joy  of  victory. 

But  when  his  lips' are  closing, 
With  his  latest  breath— 
And  he  is  near  reposing 
In  the  sleep  of  death. 

The  joyous  shouts  now  meet  his  ears, 
Though  he  is  lowly  laid — 
And  to  arrest  his  brethren's  fears, 
He,  smiling,  calmly  to  them  said, — 

Farewell,  sons  of  fair  Britannia ! 
Glorious  victory  we  have  won ; 
We  have  routed  haugbty  Gallia, 
Therefore  Nelson's  work  is  done. 

Tell  my  country  now  victorious, 
That  her  son  is  lowly  laid — 
Tell  her  of  renown  most  glorious, 
By  her  sons  in  victory  made. 


250  MINOR  POEMS. 


ELEGY  ON  GENERAL  HARRISON, 

LATE  PRESIDENT  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES- 

aThy  name's  inscribed  on  battle-fields, 

With  writing  of  thy  sword  ;" 
In  hearts  too  of  thy  countrymen, 
In  memory  deeply  stored. 

And  spots  where  bloody  Indian, 

Had  hoped  yet  still  to  tread ; 
Are  those  where  glory  crovvn'd  thee, 

Thou  noble  one — now  dead. 

But  ah  !  when  raised  our  leader, 

In  council  and  in  war, 
When  too  we  heard  the  threatening, 

Of  the  enemy  afar ; 

The  archer  Death  then  pierced  thee, 
With  his  fearful,  reckless  dart; 

With  unerring  aim  he  smote  thee, 
And  congeal'd  thy  noble  heart. 

Yet  rest  in  peace,  great  chieftain, 

Columbia's  not  afraid  ; 
Though  the  hand  seems  'gainst  her  raising, 

That  bloody  Indian  paid; 

To  scalp  her  sons  and  daughters, 
When  for  freedom  hard  she  fought ; 

WThen  from  tyrants  too  she  wrench'd  it, 
By  her  sons'  blood — dearly  bought. 

With  Congress  now  of  sages, 
And  of  warriors  who  had  bled  ; 

Methinks  I  see  thee  seated, 
With  glory  round  thy  head. 


REQUIEM  ON  GENERAL  WASHINGTON.  251 

Where  Washington's  great  spirit, 
In  snow-white  robe  now  stands; 
And  spirits  too  of  honour'd  dead, 
Who  bled  in  other  lands. 

Harrison  came  into  power,  when  America  had  not  settled  the  Oregon 
difficulty— England  threatened— but  Harrison  dying  soon  after  the  inaugu 
ration,  beheld  not  its  amicable  adjustment. 


REQUIEM  ON  GENERAL  G.  WASHINGTON. 

Rest,  mighty  chieftain  of  fairest  Columbia! 

In  sweetest  repose  now  tranquilly  rest. 
Thou  hast  humbled  the  pride  of  haughty  Britannia, 

And  rendered  thy  country  the  land  of  the  blest. 

When  Columbia  forsaken  no  safety  expected, 
And  hope  of  protection  seem'd  totally  gone; 

Thy  bravery  roused  her,  then  almost  dejected, 
Thy  country  was  saved,  and  victory  won. 

From  Vernon's  fair  summit  in  youth  then  descending, 
Thou  baredst  thy  breast  to  lead  her  to  war  ; 

With  the  favour  of  Heaven,  thy  counrtry  defending, 
Thou  leddest  her  onward  in  victory's  car. 

The  nations  of  earth,  at  thy  fame  are  astonish'd, 
For  thy  glorious  renown  is  spread  now  afar. 

Thy  valour  and  glory  have  Britons  admonish'd, 
That  again  with  Columbia  they  never  make  war. 

Then  rest,  mighty  chieftain  of  fairest  Columbia, 
In  the  tomb  of  thy  fathers  now  peacefully  rest, 

For  the  fame  of  thy  glory  o'er  proudest  Britannia, 
Is  spread  now  afar  to  the  east  and  the  west. 


252  MINOR  POEMS. 


TIME  AND  ETERNITY. 

How  fathomless  thy  depths,  Eternity! 

Ten  thousand  ages  pass  away,  and  thou, 

Art  still  the  infinite,  unwasted.     Time, 

To  thee  a  sizeless  point,  is  naught  wherewith 

To  measure  thee — thyself  immeasurable. 

Yet  One  of  days  the  ancient,  sitteth  King, 

Upon  thy  everlasting  flood  of  ages — 

The  Great  Unchangeable  for  ever. 

0  Time!  thy  years  have  nearly  circled  round! 

The  tottering  pillars  of  thy  throne  proclaim  it. 

And  ere  long,  a  mightier  shall  proclaim — 

"  Time  was — but  time  shall  be  no  more."     Ah!  then — 

How  shall  thy  glories  vanish!  and  thyself, 

Like  bubble  on  the  ocean,  instantly 

Be  lost  in  an  eternity,  which  One, 

Who  never  knew  thee,  everlastingly 

Inhabits. 


VIT.E  HUMANE  TEMPOEA. 

Mane  veni;  erat  ver, 

Atque  risi. 
Meridiano  tern  pore, 

Perdeambulavi, 

Erat  sestas; 

Atque  gavisus  sum. 
Consedi  vesperi; 

Erat  autumnus; 

Atque  tristitia  afFectus  sum. 
Nocte  quieti  me  dedi; 

Erat  hyems; 

Atque  dormivi. 


AFRICA.  253 


AFRICA. 

O'er  Atlas'  proud  summit,  o'er  Soudan's  wide  plains, 
The  darkness  of  death  in  horror  still  reigns; 
Yet  the  banner  of  Jesus,  o'er  Afric'  shall  wave, 
And  the  flag  of  the  cross,  o'er  the  home  of  the  slave. 

'Cross  Sahara's  great  desert,  a  voice  is  now  heard ; 
'Tis  the  voice  of  salvation,  the  voice  of  the  word; 
For  amid  the  dry  sands  now  the  crystal  founts  play, 
And  flow  o'er  the  spot,  where  the  dragons  once  lay. 

See,  too,  where  in  horrors  the  bleak  mountain  stood, 
There  ariseth  in  beauty  the  wide  branching  wood; 
Tall  cedars  there  nod ;  and  the  oaks  and  the  pines, 
Rejoice  with  the  fir-tree,  the  elms,  and  the  vines. 

Lo !  Caffraria's  dark  sons  now  sigh  to  be  free, 
To  Messiah  the  Hottentot  bendeth  the  knee ; 
For  the  tidings  of  peace  have  come  to  their  shore, 
Across  the  great  sea,  where  the  wild  waters  roar. 

Peace !  peace !  to  Nigritia  then  quickly  proclaim, 
With  the  trump  of  the  gospel,  Messiah's  sweet  name ; 
That  Soudan's  dark  princes,  and  Congo's  proud  king, 
To  Jesus,  our  Saviour,  their  presents  may  bring, 

That  Satan's  dark  ensigns  to  dust  may  be  hurl'd, 
And  the  knowledge  of  Jesus  be  spread  o'er  the  world- 
That  the  banner  of  Jesus,  o'er  Afric  may  wave, 
And  the  flag  of  the  cross,  o'er  the  home  of  the  slave. 


254  MINOR  POEMS. 


HEAVEN. 

Far  in  yon  central  world,  round  which  now  roll, 

In  their  predestined  orbits,  other  worlds — 

Together  with  their  planetary  spheres — • 

In  numbers  numberless — in  that  far  world, 

The  Heaven  of  heavens  rightly  call'd — there  stands 

Our  God's  eternal  city — seated  high 

Upon  the  hills  of  immortality — 

Innumerable  companies  of  saints, 

And  holy  angels  throng  it.     There  behold, 

The  Highest's  throne — a  rainbow  evergreen 

Encircling  it  for  ever,  while  beneath, 

Life's  river  pure,  in  brightest  crystal  streams, 

Makes  his  continual  course — and  on  his  banks, 

The  nations  of  the  saved  pluck  from  Life's  tree, 

Its  healing  leaves,  and  live  for  evermore. 


THUNDER  STORM. 

In  the  dark  and  cloudy  sky, 
Lo  !  terrific  lightning  plays! 
See  it  shooting  far  on  high, 
Astonishing  our  wondering  gaze. 

Hark!  the  thunder  so  appalling, 
How  it  shakes  the  distant  poles — 
Rain  in  torrents  also  falling, 
O'er  earth's  surface  widely  rolls. 

Trees  by  forked  lightning  riven, 
With  crashing  noise  are  stricken  down; 
Man's  dwellings  prostrate  too  are  driven 
By  the  Lord  of  nature's  frown. 


ELEGY  ON  MESSRS.  MUNSON  AND  LYMAN,     255 


ELEGY. 

On  Rev.  Messrs.  Mnnson  and  Lyman,  missionaries,  who  were  supposed 
to  be  eaten  by  the  savages  of  the  Balta  country,  in  the  island  of  Sumatra. 

Oh!  heard  ye  that  cry,  from  yon  far  distant  island  ? 
'Twas  the  cry  of  the  Christians  by  cannibals  slain, 
In  sadness  it  burst  o'er  the  desolate  highland, 
From  martyrs  who  fell  on  the  savages'  plain. 

The  hills  and  the  crags  of  the  isle  they  ascended, 
To  carry  the  truth  to  a  cannibal  band ; 
Yet  scarcely  arrived,  to  the  grave  they  descended, 
Bereft  of  their  lives  by  the  savages'  hand. 

They  fell  where  no  voice  of  friendship  or  kindness, 
Is  heard  on  yon  wild  and  desolate  shore; 
Where  the  heathen  are  mad,  and  savage  with  blindness; 
They  died  and  their  sorrowful  labours  are  o'er, 

0  martyrs  of  Jesus !  the  Christians  deplore  you, 

And  weep  for  your  fate,  on  a  merciless  shore ; 

But  though  fallen,  we  know  that  our  God  shall  restore  you, 

And  raise  up  your  bodies,  when  time  shall  be  o'er. 

Brave  martyrs;  ye  fell  in  the  cause  of  salvation; 
Ye  fell;  and  your  garments  were  clotted  with  gore; 
Ye  died ;  and  your  souls  to  their  high  habitation, 
Escaping,  ascended  to  suffer  no  more. 

Soon  out  of  your  ashes,  an  army  most  glorious 
Shall  rise  to  o'erwhelm  proud  Satan's  domain ; 
•  On  the  isle  where  ye  fell,  the  Saviour  victorious, 
Shall  triumph,  and  cannibals  weep  o'er  the  slain. 


256  MINOR  POEMS. 


RIYUS. 

Rivulus  qui  limpidus  exoritur, 
Montis  e  clivis  latebrisque  celsis; 
Leniter  manatque  salit  susurro, 
Maximum  in  amnem. 

Nunc  sono  currens  cito  clariore, 
Editis  saxis  scopulisque  victis; 
Voce  magna  vociferans  superne, 
Fit  cataracta. 

Per  fluens  prorsum  atque  totum  per  alveum, 
Prorsus  ac  ocius,  properatque  Rivus, 
Dein  ac  sorptum  maris  in  profundo, 
Perfremit  ore. 


EIVER. 

The  streamlet  clear  which  gently  glides, 
From  out  the  hollow  mountain's  sides — 
Purling  on  with  murmuring  sounds, 
Into  the  mighty  river  bounds. 

Then  rushing  on  with  louder  roar, 
The  rocks  and  precipices  o'er; 
Curling,  dashing  louder  calls, 
Forming  mighty  water-falls. 

Rolling  all  its  channel  through, 
Onward  still  the  waters  go — 
Till  lost  amid  the  depths  of  ocean, 
All  disappears  in  wild  commotion. 


THE  EXODUS.  257 


THE  EXODUS. 

"And  Miriam  answered  them,  Sing  ye  to  the  Lord,  for  he  hath  triumphed 
gloriously;  the  horse  and  his  rider  hath  he  thrown  into  the  sea." 


When  the  cry  rang  through  Egypt — "  Our  first-born  are  dying," 

Proud  Pharaoh  repenting  bade  Israel  flee; 
On  the  mercy  of  Heaven  then  sweetly  relying, 

From  slavery  hasten,— the  bondmen  set  free. 

ii. 

By  the  shore  of  that  sea,  whose  red  waters  are  tossing, 

In  mountai-nous  billows  tumultuously  there; 
All  astonish'd  they  stand,  where  seem'd  now  no  crossing. 

And  Moses,  the  lawgiver,  proffers  his  prayer. 

in. 

His  rod  is  uplifted — the  Red  Sea  dividing, 

Affords  a  dry  pathway  for  Israel  then; 
For  the  Angel  Jehovah  his  glory  now  hiding, 

In  dark  cloudy  pillar  is  nigh  them  again. 

IV. 

But  the  ruthless  oppressor  with  myriads  of  foemen, 
Comes  after,  where  water-walls  hang  o'er  his  head; 

His  chariots  and  horsemen  are  all  overthrown  then, 
And  Pharaoh  the  haughty  lies  low  with  the  dead. 

v. 

Upon  the  far  shore  stood  that  loved-of-God  nation, 

Exulting  o'er  en'mies  immersed  in  the  sea; 
For  the  One  in  the  cloud  has  just  wrought  their  salvation, 

His  Angel  too  guiding  them,  joyful  and  free. 
17 


258  MINOR  POEMS. 


VI. 


The  Shekinah  of  glory  moves  onward  before  them, 
And  through  the  great  desert  they  happily  pass'd; 

The  Almighty's  own  wings  all  gently  spread  o'er  them, 
And  Canaan  their  country  receives  them  at  last. 


LAST  DAY. 

Long  had  man  slept  in  his  damp  silent  bed, 

And  earth  had  just  fulfilled  the  round  of  years, 

God's  fix'd  decree  assigned  her.     And  the  Sun, 

Now  dim  with  age,  withholds  his  wonted  light 

From  mortals,  purposing  another  day 

To  toil — and  yet  again  another.     When 

A  blast  from  trump  scarce  visible,  falls  on 

The  ear  of  living  men,  and  wakens  up 

The  slumbering  dead.     'Tis  the  Archangel's  voice, 

Proclaiming  to  the  world — "Time  was — but  Time 

Shall  be  no  more."     Hark!  to  the  painful  cry 

Of  Nature,  as  she  casteth  forth  her  dead. 

Lo!  there  comes  up  the  man  often  centurial  years, 

And  here  uprises  one,  the  infant  of  a  day. 

Both  small  and  great  are  there,  before  their  Judge — 

None  other  than  the  mighty  Crucified. 

How  from  his  presence,  they  who  pierced  him  flee, 

Or  call  on  fractured  rocks  to  cover  them, 

From  His  all-withering  eye.     Death's  reign  is  o'er, 

And  his  destroying  archer  breaks  his  bow, 

To  slay  no  more.     'Tis  done — and  the  great  end, 

Of  all  things  visible  is  come.     Lo!  ends 

The  mighty  pageant — for  the  world's  on  fire. 


PROVIDENCE.  259 


PROVIDENCE. 

All  nature  of  th'  Almighty  Lord, 
Whose  mansion  is  eternal  light — 

In  anthems  shouts,  "Be  thou  adored, 
I  am  the  offspring  of  thy  might." 

In  the  great  depths  of  ocean  caves, 
Where  mortal  feet  have  never  trod — 

He  who  came  walking  on  the  waves, 
Will  be  our  own  protector,  God. 

In  torrid  climes  where  wild  beasts  tread, 
His  eye  is  on  his  chosen  sheep — 

And  he  to  them  can  carry  bread, 

Though  they  on  frozen  ice-bergs  sleep. 

Were  we  to  fly  on  morning's  wing, 
To  parts  of  earth  now  distant  far, 

'To  us  protection  he  could  bring, 
And  o'er  us  shine,  Salvation's  star. 


260  MINOR  POEMS. 


OCEAN. 

Ocean,  mighty  world  of  water, 
Boisterous  still  thy  billows  are! 
Thou  receivest  Terra's  rivers 
Which  from  fountains  flow  afar. 

In  thy  bosom  vastly  spacious, 
Mighty  monsters  gamboling  play, 
Whales  of  northern  arctic  regions, 
Through  thy  billows  make  their  way 

O'er  thy  great  expansive  surface, 
Vessels  numerpus  travel  far ; 
Mighty  squadrons  cross  thy  waters, 
Fitted  out  for  bloody  war. 

Ships  of  traffic  heavy-laden, 
Press  upon  thy  surface  there — 
Little  barks  frequent  thy  billows, 
Hasting  here  and  every  where. 

Ocean,  mighty  world  of  water  ! 
Canst  thou  pass  thy  sandy  shore? 
Thou  canst  not — the  sandy  barrier 
Is  thy  bound  till  time  is  o'er. 


HEAVEN.  261 


HEAVEN. 

There  is  a  glorious  place  above — 
A  land  of  peace  and  'during  love — • 
God  the  Father  dwelleth  there, 
Likewise  God's  beloved  Son, 
And  God  the  Holy  Spirit; 

Ever  blessed  Three  in  One. 

• 

There  alone  is  light  Divine, 

Christ  doth  there  in  beauty  shine — 

If  you  wish  to  enter  there, 
Believe  in  God  the  Saviour. 

There,  sin,  pain  and  sorrow  shall  never  more  enter, 
Nor  stormy  tempests  of  icy,  cold  winter. 
There  never  more  heard  is  the  voice  of  repining, 
For  the  Lamb  in  his  beauty  for  ever  is  shining — 
'Mid  throngs  of  angels  his  throne  surrounding, 
Their  golden  harps  for  ever  resounding — 
While  news  from  afar  for  ever  are  bringing, 
And  high-vaulted  heavens  eternally  ringing, 


262  MINOR  POEMS. 


DIRGE  ON  AN  INFANT  BOY. 

His  little  bosom  heaves  no  more, 

Loosed  is  life's  silver  chord  ; 
And  his  freed  spirit's  gone  to  soar, 
Where  pain  and  sorrow  are  no  more, 
Where  is  his  Saviour  Lord. 

The  fingers  of  his  icy  hands, 

Shall  sport  no  more  with  mine, 
For  with  the  white-robed  cherub  bands, 
He  now  in  joyous  beauty  stands, 
To  be,  Lord  !  ever  thine. 

Oh!  happy  privilege  to  rest, 
With  God  in  the  sweet  grave, 

Which  his  own  presence  has  made  blest,- 

Repose  of  weary  and  distrest, 
Of  lordling  and  of  slave. 


FRAGMENT.  263 


FRAGMENT. 

Flowret  sweet!  in  early  bloom, 
Death  made  haste  thee  to  destroy; 

Though  sent  to  an  untimely  tomb, 
Pain  no  more  can  thee  annoy. 

Fairest  spirit!  though  thy  form, 

Is  seen  no  more  by  friends  most  dear — 

Yet  thou  art  free  from  every  storm, 
From  every  sorrow,  every  fear. 

Thy  sister  spirits  thee  surrounding, 
Raise  the  rapturous  song  of  joy; 

The  joyous  notes  through  heaven  resounding. 
Gladness  cause  with  no  alloy. 

"Untimely  gone!  for  ever  fled! 
The  roses  of  thy  cheek  so  red ! 
The  affection  warm,  the  temper  mild, 
The  sweetness  that  in  sorrow  smiled." 


FINIS. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
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RENEWED  BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO  IMMEDIATE 
RECALL 


LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-70m-9,'65(F7151s4)458 


N2  416833 

Alexander,  W. 

The  poetical  works. 


PS1029 
A22 

18U7 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


